


A Force to be Reckoned With

by SETI_fan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Canon-typical violence and angst, Drama, Drowning, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, In-party fighting, It's Percy after all, Maybe some triggers for addiction parallels, Possession, Rhetoric, Typically temporary, Violence on par with the Whitestone Arc, canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 19:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17813834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SETI_fan/pseuds/SETI_fan
Summary: Based on the question in the post-campaign wrap-up about what would have happened if Scanlan hadn't destroyed Percy's gun. What if Orthax was still around during the Chroma Conclave arc? A canon divergence in which Percy's trying to walk a very fine line while maintaining control...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know versions of this have been done before, but this story ripped its way through my mind almost fully-formed, somewhat like a possession itself, demanding to be written. It's going to be a wild ride and I'll add to/adjust the tags accordingly as things come up, but let me know if I miss any I should warn people about. It'll stay at the canon-typical level, but that can get intense sometimes.
> 
> This first chapter wound up really long because it follows very closely with the episode (to the point a lot of it is adapted straight from their dialogue). However, it takes a different turn toward the end and the rest of the chapters will run parallel, but divergent from canon as things progress. No guarantee the rest of the chapters will be this big, but knowing me, they'll probably run longer than I intend. :P
> 
> Hope you enjoy! It's gonna be angsty, but hopefully it will come to a satisfying conclusion for everyone.

It was a strange calm in the wake of the Briarwoods’ fall. A hesitant, relieved, at times even boring lull that almost sometimes could make Percy think for a few minutes that things might return to some level of normal. Whatever version of normal existed these days anyway.

They had retaken his home. He had gotten to kill the monsters who stole his family and youthful naivety. He had one of his sisters back. The citizens of Whitestone lived and were even now rebuilding as the Sun Tree began to restore itself. He had celebrated Winter’s Crest, of all things, alongside his friends and sister and people in the castle and city he had grown up in.

He could almost think that everything that had come before was just a horrible nightmare if he didn’t still have his sister’s name on his gun.

But that was a problem for another time. The smoky voice in his mind had quieted, possibly sated for the time by the extensive bloodbath Percy had wrought in his vengeance. Yes, Cassandra’s and Dr. Ripley’s names were still emblazoned on the barrels of his pepperbox, but he felt no notable desire to fulfill them. He recognized the feel of the demon’s touch on his mind and emotions now and had firmly decided it would not take such liberties again. Any future use he put his weapon to would be for his own reasons and by his own hand, not the demon’s.

He knew the others wanted him to just get rid of the gun completely. He had Ripley’s attempt at a knock-off after all, free of curses at least, inferior though it was. At the very least, they proposed having Pike or Keeper Yennan try to remove whatever curse came part and parcel with his weapon for everyone’s peace of mind.

Percy had declined and rebuffed Scanlan’s attempts to charm it away from him. He had only just learned the full nature of its creation and he had no intention of surrendering it before he had gotten to study the full extent of its abilities and costs. Who knew if it would work as well post-exorcism? How much of its power had truly come from Percy’s inventing and how much was fiendish magic all along? He would rather know before allowing someone to neuter the weapon that had given him his revenge.

He also didn’t know what would become of his deal if the tool of fulfilling it was suddenly denied him. Although he had no intention of admitting it to the others, the demon’s silence was more concerning to him than relief. A shoe was waiting to drop and he could only hope he would get to decide what was under it when it did. Alone in a guest room of his former home, after the festivities and politicking of the day were closed outside, he would sit, running his thumb along the four unmarked barrels of his pepperbox, almost willing new names to appear just to end the anticipation.

Even before he had known the gun represented an actual literal pact with a demon, he had known it for what it was: a beginning without an end. All that had changed was he was no longer the one adding the names to the barrels.

But somehow, no further disasters befell Whitestone in their time there. They celebrated the holiday, aided in the reconstruction, negotiated a ruling body, and as soon as Percy could reasonably arrange it, passed off control of the city to his sister and the council and happily followed his friends back to Emon. Knowing his home was safe was a relief, but one he preferred knowing from a distance at the moment.

Back in his adopted home, life settled into the brand of normal he was more recently acquainted with. He set up their keep as an embassy. They tracked down Daxio, another loose end of the Briarwood’s treachery cut away. They returned to the house of the late, scaled General Krieg and were nearly killed by purple worms. Life was good. Life was right. His gun was just a gun. He could work with this.

However, if life had taught Percy anything, it should have been that the quiet times never lasted. Calm was simply that predatory inhale of something horrible preparing to descend and rip it all apart. He couldn’t have foreseen four ancient chromatic dragons, but in retrospect he should have known that defeating one nightmarish amount of awfulness at home could only mean some new amount of impossible horror would appear to destroy his other home. Life could have no less.

The onslaught was a blur of chaos and terror. He remembered the white dragon toppling Allura’s tower, a similar feeling of shocked wrongness to when Lord Briarwood lunged over the banal atmosphere of dinner. He remembered the black and the red, laying waste to the palace, and possibly Uriel with it. He remembered the green most of all, facing them down with poison and intelligent, cruel eyes, the flash of Delilah and Ripley’s eyes through the screams and ruin, before he was fleeing again, another moment of desperate cowardice as he clustered with his friends and then they were through a tree and away to the deceptive normality of Greyskull Keep.

He had only a minute to feel the writhe of familiar guilt of fleeing a city in ruins—his city, his people—before reality caught up to their walls and there were survivors to harbor and danger upon them and, ridiculous as it was, he found himself fighting a white dragon for the third time in his life. They lived only by the grace that they were too insignificant to be worth the dragons’ time, and then they were inside, settling survivors and their staff, and the quiet could no longer drown out the pounding of his heart.

Out of the way of the bustle, he knew he should be organizing, planning, taking charge, anything useful, Percy instead found himself instead pressing his back against one of the now-frigid stone walls, just breathing, eyes shut, fingers resting over the pressure points on his face in a poor substitute for his mask.

_Fool. Damned fool. Why would life grant you a victory without taking something greater? There is no peace without cost, no satisfaction without retaliation. You fled Whitestone a pitiful, cowardly child, unable to defend yourself and your sister, much less your family, your city. Are you still that sniveling child now? Or will you take the vengeance that now lies within your power?_

“Percy?”

Grog’s voice broke through the reverie. He didn’t even realize he was gripping the stock of his pepperbox, but he released it now, forcing his hand to hang empty at his side instead, not quite relaxed.

“Can I have a word with you, please?” Grog continued, looking equally tense where he stood, jerking his head toward the door to Percy’s workshop beside him.

“Certainly,” Percy agreed and he thought there was an unfamiliar roughness to his voice, but gods knew after everything today, none of them were quite themselves at the moment.

Descending into his workshop was a salve to Percy’s nerves. Down here, nothing had changed. His tools lay exactly where he stored them, organized and clean. His forge was cold but with wood and coal stacked in the bin, ready for use. His designs and calculations were still spread on the bench where he had last left them before heading out to the fateful speech of Uriel’s only hours before. How had it only been hours ago?

Percy breathed the cold, slightly sooty air, letting it calm him as he made room for Grog to step into the room as well.

The Goliath lingered in the doorway. Percy felt a little twinge of warm satisfaction that the man had finally learned a healthy respect for the workshop.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Percy nodded, the sense of control of his space steadying him further.

Grog walked in, still tense. “Can you shut the door?”

Percy frowned slightly. No one had followed them down. The basement was about as private as it got in the keep. “All right.”

“Can you lock it?”

Percy froze slightly, hand still on the heavy door. A little flicker of wariness made his fingers twitch, very aware his back was to Grog, but he complied. “All right.”

He had to admit, as Grog explained it, his plan had a welcome simplicity in the face of the astronomical challenge this horde of dragons presented. Use the probably evil skull to wish away the dragons, then face just whatever single evil creature the skull itself unleashed. Four evils down to just one in a snap. It was a fair thought, and honestly a somewhat impressive calculation for Grog to determine on his own. But still…

“We have an opportunity here,” Percy agreed, hands folded as he leaned on the workbench in front of him, mind running through the possible outcomes. “But not one I think we should approach lightly. I’m still…working on the previous bargain I made.”

“That’s why I came to you! You have a demon. Maybe it knows something about this that could help us.”

Percy grimaced slightly, rubbing his knuckles. “It hasn’t been saying anything since Whitestone.”

“Oh.” Grog paused, disappointed.

“What about your new friend?” Percy asked, flicking his eyes at the sword hilt over Grog’s shoulder.

Grog looked almost self-conscious, squinting at Percy warily. “What friend?”

“It’s just us here, Grog. I heard it too.”

Grog relaxed slightly. “Craven Edge only talks when it wants to. Mostly about being hungry.”

Well, that was a confirmation to file away for later. “So equally unhelpful.”

“Can’t you at least, like, _ask_ your smoky bastard? Maybe it can talk to the skull too.”

Oh, didn’t that sound like a brilliant mix of personalities? Percy rubbed his eyes. “Before we start introducing even more evil voices to this conversation, I’d rather include some of our people as well.”

Now that angry edge returned to Grog’s voice. “The others don’t have the balls to handle dark stuff like us! Besides, the skull said it has to be someone…‘touched’.”

“And the skull has you and it has me to pick from. But we need the others. We need…” He scrunched his eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Witnesses, at best? Firepower if it goes wrong.”

When he looked up, he saw Grog scowling at him with that dangerous mix of stillness and contained fire that Percy knew was at least as deadly as his black powder. “Who?” Grog said at last. “Which of the others?”

Percy exhaled, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “At the very least, Vax. Keyleth, at the very least.”

“Key--?! Keyleth?!” Grog erupted, sputtering. “She’s bleached whiter than Whitestone!”

“Exactly!” Percy retorted. “We need good people. I will take the skull out of its hiding place and I will try to talk to it. Just try and discern what it is and how it works and what it wants. And if for some strange reason things go wrong or we get a repeat of Whitestone, I need people who would be more than willing to…at the very least knock me out. So I’m going to be needing you and at least one other, preferably a magic user, ready to deal with me if something goes weird.”

Grog took a few steps closer, looking down to emphasize his height and bulk over Percy. “I think you only need me.”

A very familiar sensation kindled deep in Percy’s chest. His hand twitched even though it was nowhere near his holster. But he didn’t break eye contact with Grog. “Are you willing to take on me—” Grog snorted but Percy pressed on. “— _and_ Orthax, _and_ whatever is in that skull that potentially can obliterate dragons with a _thought_ , entirely on your own?”

Grog’s nostrils flared above him, muscles tensing, but Percy didn’t flinch. He just waited.

Finally, Grog ground out, “Name _one_ other.”

Percy drew a breath. “Keyleth.” He saw Grog’s jaw tighten again and decided compromise was better than being outright rejected. “Or Vax. Pick your choice, honestly. Whoever’s less busy upstairs.”

Grog nodded, glaring down at him a moment longer. “All right.”

Then, with barely a break in the tension, Grog turned and headed out of the workshop.

As he left, Percy closed the door behind him, resting his hand on the solid mass of the door again. In the silence that settled back into the room, he tapped one finger thoughtfully.

He shouldn’t. He had left well enough alone since the Briarwoods and their contamination had finally been eradicated from Whitestone. His dreams were untroubled by smoke. He had been normal—or as normal as he could imagine for himself—for the weeks since. He should hold onto that as long as it lasted.

But nothing was normal now. And they had four ancient dragons razing their entire world and something potentially worse lurking in a skull hidden in this room. Orthax was a known quantity, at least, and one they had driven back once before. A familiar evil could at least prove a useful resource in this new disaster they were thrust into. Desperate times, and all.

Bracing both hands on the door, Percy drew a deep breath again and reached out to that cold, shadowed place at the very back of his mind. And touched it.

It was almost alarming how effortlessly it came back to him. He felt the now-recognizable edge return to his thoughts, the tendency toward ruthlessness already there, now honed slightly sharper. The slight chill that always sat at the base of his ribcage seemed more noticeable, but perhaps that was just because he was paying attention to it now. He half-expected to see smoke billowing off of him when he opened his eyes, but there was no visible indication of this shift. And no pressure on his mind or his actions toward cruelty or violence.

Simply a sensation of presence, an unspoken acknowledgment of _I’m here._

Interesting.

Shoulders a bit straighter, Percy hurried to his cache before Grog returned and took out the skull, still wrapped in the tapestry they had stored it in at General Krieg’s house. Making sure the door was still closed and he had time, Percy set the skull on the table, uncovered it, and sat across from it, feeling the second set of eyes regarding it through him.

“Okay, talk. You have my attention.”

The crystal imbedded in the skull’s eye socket shifted, its color swirling until it formed into a face of a species Percy had never seen before. “I have been tormented in this prison for eons. Free me and I will grant you a wish. Whatever you desire.”

“Your case is…?” Percy prodded, unimpressed.

“I was wrongfully sentenced to this imprisonment. Enemies sought my downfall and cast my soul into this crystal. I committed no crime.”

**Lies.**

Percy rolled his eyes. _I knew that._ While there were, of course, innocent people in the world held captive by evil forces, in Percy’s experience most people in jails had done at least something to deserve their imprisonment, and he included himself in that estimation. A prison this elaborate? Was no accident.

“What type of wishes are you capable of granting?”

“Wealth. Power. Anything,” the skull’s inhabitant replied. “What would you desire?”

“A wish for the entire town to be fixed and the dragons to be banished.”

“That is within my power.”

Percy listened for the other voice in his head, but it offered no insight into whether that was true or not. Very well.

“Last question: At what price?”

“Free me first. Receive your wish. Then we can discuss a price.”

Percy didn’t even need the rumbling rejection in the back of his head to know that was a bad deal when he heard it. “Right. That’s all for now.”

He threw the cover back over the skull and leaned back on his stool, tapping his fingers on the workbench agitatedly.

That was enough, as far as he was concerned. A bargain with undisclosed terms was not one to agree to. He was living with enough proof of that. Still, perhaps the skull could have some usefulness if handled in the right way. It was rare to encounter something with no potential benefits, no matter how risky. But nothing could be decided about it until they confirmed exactly what was inside of it and what power it truly wielded.

Percy stood up as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He composed himself, shoving the dark voice back into the recesses of his mind, and waited for Grog to enter. He was pleased to see Vax follow Grog in. Impulsive as the man could be sometimes, his moral center was as solid as Keyleth’s and Percy trusted Vax’s judgment right now, even though he looked as shaken and emotional as the rest of them.

With Vax’s presence, a welcome sense of sanity returned to the room. He listened to their explanation of what was going on and even spoke to the skull himself with the same skepticism Percy had. And Percy was relieved to see Vax arrive at the same reservations and agree further research was necessary before making any decisions about the skull.

Still, a little sense of warning continued to prickle along Percy’s spine. Rationality was not doing anything to calm Grog down. If anything, Percy could feel the tension beginning to escalate and Vax wasn’t someone Grog listened to on the best of days. There were too many bad directions this could spiral, and Percy decided it would be wisest to remove the object of temptation from the picture before Grog’s remaining restraint gave out.

As Vax continued to plead for practicality, Percy waved his hand and quietly cast an illusion of the skull dropping through shadow into the table, leaving only an empty, shadowed space behind.

The conversation immediately came to a halt. Grog sputtered, staring in shock at where the skull had appeared to vanish. Vax paused, staring at the spot, then looking over at Percy with a difficult expression to read. Percy wondered briefly if he was able to see through the illusion, but it didn’t really matter. It had had the intended effect on its target audience.

“I thought it might be best to return the skull to its hiding place until we decide what we wish to do about it,” he said calmly, but belying the tension of his muscles beneath the façade.

Grog recovered from his shock, turning to Percy with his brows furrowed. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was a small reminder that you should know exactly what you’re dealing with before you touch power,” he replied, still motionless.

Grog stared even harder, his mind assimilating this new information in its usual ponderous fashion. “Can you do magic?!”

“Yes. While Orthax has been quiet since before Winter’s Crest, his…gifts appear to have remained.”

He could feel the weight of Vax’s gaze even though he wasn’t taking his eye off Grog. “You didn’t feel the need to mention this, Percival?”

“You all already saw what I could do in Whitestone.” Percy spread his arms in a gesture of hiding nothing. “Nothing has changed about my abilities since then except Orthax has no longer been pressuring me to use them. Nor had I really had cause to do anything with them before today. But I’ve hidden nothing about them from you.”

Truth.

Vax pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “I wish I could say that was our biggest worry right now. Your…buddy, Orthax, he hasn’t been talking to you and saying things like, ‘Hey torture that guy, it’ll be funny’?”

“No.”

Truth, by nuance.

Vax rubbed his eyes. “Well, one disaster at a time, then.”

“Wait!” Grog snapped. “You can do magic now?”

Percy looked at Vax. “What do you think he’d do if I said ‘no’ now?”

“No, but that settles it, doesn’t it?” Grog insisted. “Percy fucked with something evil and got magic powers out of it! What if we all got magic powers too?”

“I suspect it would be at a rather large cost, big man,” Vax said wearily.

“We don’t know that! Guy in the skull just wants to be free. That’s easy! Besides, Percy’s fine! Look at him!”

Percy exchanged a look with Vax. He was idly curious what the man did see in him, but didn’t dwell on it.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend I always make the best calls,” Percy conceded. Stay rational. Not always the best tactic with Grog, but it was with Vax and he could feel the escalation a hair trigger from detonating in the room. “But I at least would like to know its name.”

The growl rumbled up Grog’s throat. No, not the right tactic indeed.

“You…fucking _pussy_ ,” Grog snarled. “We have a chance to save the city now.”

Percy saw Vax put his head in his hand, but held onto the tenuous thread of control he had on the room. He felt a little stir inside him, that smoke at the back of his mind invisibly reaching out toward Grog, a subtle suggestion to maintain calm.

“We have a chance to stop anything worse from happening. Or we have a chance to unleash something far worse on it. I need to know more first.”

Vax pleaded Grog for patience as well, but Percy’s entire focus now was on Grog’s face, imagining the tension and anger leeching away into the shadows.

Grog didn’t relax, but Percy could see his posture shift slightly, from direct confrontation to a more fidgety energy. He turned from them and stomped toward the table where the skull rested behind Percy’s illusion. Vax winced, but Percy just watched, a slight satisfied grin twitching at his mouth as Grog examined the table, looking around it, under it, over the shadowed spot concealing the skull without a hint of discovery. Bless the low perceptiveness of simple minds.

There was a knock at the door behind them.

“We need to talk to the girls,” Vax said, looking at Percy.

Percy didn’t take his eyes off Grog. Grog’s hand reached out toward the apparently empty patch of shadow on the table. Percy’s hand twitched toward his holster, just in case… But Grog withdrew his hand hesitantly, returning to looking without actually physically touching the shadow.

“Your plan is good,” Percy intoned again, envisioning the words as smoke weaving through Grog’s anger. “It just requires a little bit more study. It’s a good plan.”

Grog continued glaring at the table, but folded his arms sulkily, giving up his search for the moment. He snorted derisively to himself. “ _Study_ …”

That would do.

There was another knock and Vex’s voice called through the door. “Are you in there?”

Percy immediately straightened up, breaking his focus on Grog, if not his attention. “Yes, come— _Please_ come in.”

Vex opened the still-unlocked door and joined her brother inside. Through the edge of his vision, Percy saw her take in the details of the scene with her quick glance, filing it away and keeping the slightly put-out look on her face without reacting. “Well? What’s this big master plan you all are plotting?”

Percy took the break in the tension to run his hands over his hair, settling the shadows to the back of his mind again. “Vex, uh… Vax, do you want to—Actually we might as well just get Keyleth down here as well.”

“Pike as well,” Vax agreed quietly.

Percy reached for his earring. “Pike? Keyleth?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles were tighter than he had realized. “Meet me in my workshop, please.”

He saw Vex giving Grog a questioning look, getting only a sullen grumble in return. Seeing the moment of distraction, Percy made a casual move to sidle over to the table as if to lean on it and very subtly scooped the skull out of the illusion and securely behind his own back.

Glancing over, he confirmed Grog was still pouting to himself like a scolded child. However, Vex’s keen eyes were on him with a curious, pointed look. He gave her a little wink and a conspiratorial grin.

“Patch this up,” Vax said, apparently equally oblivious to his move, and then headed out of the workshop, presumably to follow up on finding the others.

Percy felt a little sense of relief with the skull in his grasp, but he knew this wasn’t over yet. Grog watched Vax exit the room, scratched his beard for a moment as he glanced over at Percy and Vex. Then, without a word, he walked over to the door and shut it with an air of finality.

Okay. Percy saw Vex’s eyes widen, but kept his own demeanor calm even as he shifted his stance into a slightly more ready balance.

“I want that skull,” Grog said in a dangerously casual tone. “I want it now.”

“This is about the skull then?” Vex said, clearly trying to maintain the calm in the room too, though her voice was a bit brittle.

“Yeah,” Grog continued. “Percy’s trying to do some fucked up shit with the skull.”

Vex’s eyes flicked to Percy, but he kept his eyes on Grog, expression unwavering.

Grog put his back to the door, a wall of muscle and intention preventing anyone else from rejoining them. Damn, he was going to force them to do this the hard way.

“I want the skull. Right now.”

“Let me see your sword,” Percy countered.

To his credit, Grog didn’t blink. “No. You don’t want to see the sword.”

Vex was now eyeing them both, cautiously moving between them, arms out.

Percy ignored her, eyes still on Grog, debating if he should risk dipping into that shadowy influence with as perceptive as Vex was. Any hint of untrustworthiness now would flip the table in a direction he didn’t want. Best to leave it with the pieces he had already put in play.

He shifted the skull to one hand behind his back and pointed at the illusion still disguising the now truly empty spot on the table. “Reach into the shadow and see if you can take the skull.”

Grog considered, looking at the table, before straightening up and maintaining his place blocking the door. “No, I don’t think so. Your water fucked me up last time. _You_ get it out of the table.”

Damn. Although he was fairly pleased that lesson had worked so effectively.

As they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to be the first to move, Vex’s eyes darted back and forth between them, desperately trying to read whatever was going on. Percy wanted to give her some signal or indication, but his attention was too focused on being vigilant for any slight twitch that would betray Grog’s attack, and the smoke was all too easily accessible. Safer not to give any tells at all.

A knock at the door nearly broke the stalemate.

“Hey, uh, big man,” Vax called. “Uh, Trickfoot wants to talk to you.”

Brilliant. Percy sent a thought of praise to the rogue for knowing Grog’s weak spots. He probably should have left it be at that, but he couldn’t resist digging the knife just a bit to try to guarantee a reaction.

Very quietly, knowing Vex—Vex who was gauging them both now as he spoke—would hear him too, he asked, “Does your _friend_ have an opinion on the skull?”

It was hypocritical, yes, but when the chips were down better to cast doubt at your opponent first.

Grog, however, was not taken off guard by the question. “Which friend?” he replied.

“Your new friend,” Percy prodded back, eyes still locked on Grog’s, matching him casual smile for casual smile.

Understandably, Vex broke first. “Who the fuck?! What the fuck is going on?! What fucking friend?!”

Percy couldn’t resist chuckling a bit. She whirled on him. “I saw you, Percival.”

“You did,” he acknowledged, but raised his free hand to his lips in a shushing gesture, hoping she would be mollified by being in on the trick.

Grog hadn’t flinched and remained posted in front of the door. Percy decided to reach out to the other sane mind in the room.

“Vex.” He kept his voice calm and sincere, appealing to her view of him as a rational person. “Trust me.”

He heard the door slam against Grog’s back, heard Keyleth’s bewildered voice. Reinforcements were there. The situation would soon be under control.

In light of that, he shifted, letting his pose be more open, if not breaking his stand-off with Grog. “Or pick who you trust,” he offered.

Grog scoffed. “Trust.”

“I trust your judgment,” Percy added.

Truth again.

“Vex, listen to me,” Grog tried. “What did you see?”

Vex stammered, looking back and forth between them. Then her gaze hardened slightly on Grog, finding something to grasp onto. “Who’s your friend?”

Percy smirked slightly. Good.

Grog sighed, exasperated. “The skull grants a wish. It can only be used by those with dark presence around them. That’s Percy. That’s me. I went to him for help because I’m trying to free the city of these fucking dragons, but it wanted Percy. And apparently Percy didn’t tell us he’s still getting magic from that fucking demon thing.”

Shit. Touché.

Vex’s eyes whipped back to Percy, alarmed.

“Nothing new since Whitestone,” he assured her honestly. “Just the same parlor tricks you saw there, nothing darker, nothing more demanding. Nothing beyond that.” He gestured to the shadow on the table.

She looked him over with those intense, searching eyes. He clamped down every whisper of shadow to the back of his mind, but otherwise kept his posture open.

“It wanted Percy,” Grog restated accusingly.

“And I said no,” he countered.

“Did you?” Vex asked, hope warring with worry in her voice.

He nodded definitively, being as forthright as he could convey.

“The hell you did!” Grog snarled, starting to break a little more.

“Wait, who wanted who?” Keyleth yelled through the crack in the door.

Percy heard Vax giving a quick rundown to those outside, apparently only making Keyleth more bewildered. Behind Grog, he could see Keyleth try to reach her arm through the gap to touch Grog and Pike trying to squeeze her small form through, neither to any avail.

Grog managed to ignore the commotion behind him, focusing a convincingly sincere look at Vex. “Vex, if he has the skull, we have to get it away from him _now_.”

Vex looked back at Percy, her expression filled with hesitance, and he was a little surprised at the tiny twinge of hurt he felt below the approval. “P-Percy?” she asked, beseeching him for some clue, any clue, that she was doing the right thing.

“I have the skull,” he confirmed. Calm. Honest. “I’m not going to use it. I don’t trust him not to use it.”

“How about you guys give me the skull?” she suggested. “I’m not even touched by anything dark.”

Percy was relieved to see Grog nod. “That’s a great idea.”

“That’s fair,” Percy agreed. Still not taking his eyes off Grog, he stepped forward and carefully took the wrapped skull from behind his back. When Grog didn’t make a move to lunge at him, he handed it comfortably over to Vex.

She accepted it as carefully as if he had just handed her a pouch of black powder while on the Fire Plane. He watched her swallow hard, flicking a look at Grog. Slowly, she backed into a corner, looking down at the bundle of cloth worriedly.

Pike shoved against the door again, yelling at Grog. He shouted back at her to wait.

Despite Grog remaining posted at the door, the normality of their bickering gave Percy the faint hope maybe the situation was resolved now that the skull was in neutral hands.

That hope was quickly extinguished back to cynical readiness as Grog refocused on Vex and demanded, “Give me the skull. You don’t want Percy to have it.”

Through the door, Vax yelled, “That’s a bad idea, Vex!”

“I don’t want either of you to have it!” Vex said.

“Don’t give me the skull,” Percy repeated, “but don’t give him the skull either.”

“It’s on a ticking clock,” Grog pressed, his frustration starting to crack through his attempt at calm. “If you want to, you can ask it what it wants and then you’ll know, or you can give it to me and we can be done with this!”

Vex swallowed, but carefully unfolded the tapestry to reveal the skull underneath. “What the fuck do you want? What the fuck are you?”

Percy kept his eyes on Grog as the skull answered Vex with similar information to what he had been given.

“Are you Vecna?” she asked.

He arched an eyebrow. Clever one, always.

The voice in the skull just chuckled. “No. Vecna’s been long gone. I am not a being of such power.”

That didn’t mean its power wasn’t significant, though. Beings of far less power than a god still had brought a great deal of ruin to Percy’s life more than once.

“Why would we free it?” Vex asked, turning to Percy.

“So it would grant us a wish,” he answered. “It _claims_ it would give us a wish. If we let it go. I think we need a name before we do that.”

Speaking with Vex was so conversational, so normal, that he almost let his guard down. And of course Grog used that hint of distraction to make his move.

Percy’s reflexes had been honed to lightning quickness over the past years, but now they seemed to move even before he was aware. He caught the flash of Grog lunging into motion out of the corner of his eye, but his arm was up, gun drawn and the shot fired, before he even finished processing what the move meant. His bullet hit Grog’s shoulder and Percy was now moving as well, darting in front of the Goliath’s rush to get to the skull. As he dragged it—and Vex—out of Grog’s line of movement, his brain caught up at last and he felt his body settle under his conscious control again, gun still out toward Grog as a warning.

Grog, already barreling forward, not slowed a fraction by the blood dripping down his shoulder, made no attempt to reduce his momentum. Instead, he merely shifted his target, redirecting slightly from Vex to aim toward Percy. Percy didn’t have time to squeeze off another shot before Grog was on him. The Goliath’s massive shoulder dodged his gun to slam him square in the chest. The force jolted his breath out of his lungs as it took him off his feet, landing backward on the ground hard enough to knock any remaining air from his chest and send his gun scattering away from his hand.

Despite the stun of the blow, he was just conscious enough to be aware the skull was not in his possession. Gods, don’t let the idiot grab it from Vex.

**Get up.**

He wheezed, attempting to gasp enough air back into his body to do so. Blinking the stars from his vision, he raised his head to see Grog now standing between him and Vex—feigning at protecting her from him! The discomfort of the pain in his chest turned to indignation and anger. For fuck’s sake!

Behind him, Vex stepped away, reclaiming the shelter of the corner and demanded. “What is all this about? Why do you even need this? Why do we want to set him free? I don’t understand!”

“We don’t!” Grog growled, still standing over Percy. “We don’t! We just don’t want him to have Percy!”

Of all the gall…

There was a bang off to the side of the room and he realized as time accelerated back to its normal pace that without Grog to block the door, the others had finally managed to join them in the workshop.

“He doesn’t want me!” Percy managed to rasp as he recovered enough breath to assert his innocence. “I don’t want to use the skull! I want to keep _you_ from using it!”

“What is going on in here?!” Pike interjected, planting herself in the center of the room with far more gravitas than her size should be capable off.

To finish matters further, Keyleth stepped behind her, cracking her staff against the floor. A gust of wind erupted from her, a magical manifestation of her frustration and anger that swept over all of them.

Percy threw his arms around his head as tools were blown off the workbench beside him, squinting his eyes against the clouds of soot that suddenly filled the room. He coughed, waving it away from his face as he pushed himself up amid the settling haze. A part of him was grateful for it, though, as he couldn’t guarantee with certainty that he wasn’t emitting a bit of his own smoke by that point.

“SILENCE!” Keyleth roared, a respectable embodiment of the tempest that was her destiny.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to comply. Percy took the moment to sit up, still coughing, and clean the soot off his glasses enough that he could at least see.

Nearby, he could see the blurry shapes through the haze of Pike approaching Grog. Her eyes flicked to the bullet wound in his shoulder, but she said nothing about it. When she asked him for Craven Edge, Percy smirked slightly with satisfaction. Trusting her to have the issue in hand, he put his glasses back on, pushed to his feet, and gathered up his gun again, backing into the other corner Vex wasn’t occupying and squaring off to wait, finger ready by the trigger of the pepperbox.

Grog was still in the center of the room, Vex in the other corner with the skull in her hands. Pike stood before Grog, Keyleth behind her, Vax at the door speaking to someone outside. The numbers were back on their side for the moment.

Grog looked down at Pike, his expression still more closed than Percy would have liked. “I love you, Pike. You’ll thank me.”

And he turned around and easily ripped the skull from Vex’s grip.

In the shocked instant, Percy snapped the gun up again, aiming for the skull, Grog’s arm, whatever he could. His finger started its curl around the trigger as Grog’s arm was already moving, bringing the skull down forcefully in a spiking motion. Fuck fuck _fuck_.

He squeezed the trigger anyway, watched the bullet pass uselessly through the empty space Grog’s hand had occupied. The skull’s arc continued on its fatal sweep toward the ground, but Sarenrae apparently worked her miracles in strange ways. Percy saw Grog’s eyes lock with Pike’s face and she proved once again that it was no exaggeration to say she could bring down giants with a single disappointed look. The skull fumbled out of Grog’s hesitating grip, bounced once, then rolled intact across the floor toward Keyleth.

Percy exhaled with relief, his gun lowering slightly, eyes closing.

And then Vex scrambled forward in her own blur of motion, scooping the skull back up and bolting for the door.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Keyleth yelled, and her hand swept out.

Percy felt the spell hit. His muscles tightened involuntarily, locking him in place. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t react, couldn’t brush the trigger again if he wanted to.

Refocusing on the room, he saw Grog shake his head, but remain in motion. Vex continued darting out the door as Vax moved to defend her, daggers in hand. No one, in fact, froze except him.

A little flicker of irritated anger simmered in his chest. Not that he could do anything about it.

“Everyone stop!” Keyleth shouted into the commotion. “Why are we fighting?! We just watched our city burn to the ground! What are we fighting over?!”

“We’re not fighting!” Grog retorted. “We’re trying to protect the skull.”

**Lies.**

“What does this look like?!” Keyleth snapped back, not taken by his claim. “What does this look like to you?”

Grog thought briefly, eyes passing over Percy. “A statue garden?”

A growl rumbled from Percy’s throat, the only sound he could produce right now.

“Everyone get in Percy’s workshop and we’re going to talk this out!” Keyleth slammed a fist on the workbench beside her, sending up another swirl of soot.

“Mm, Keyleth? You don’t know what’s happening,” Vex said quietly, still shielded behind her brother.

“I would if any of my fucking party would for once tell me something! You all didn’t tell me the full fucking story when we went back to General Krieg’s house and now look what happened! Look what happened because _you_ assholes aren’t communicating!” She stabbed her finger right at Percy’s face.

He managed a few muffled sounds of protest at the absurdity of her accusation at that moment.

“Shut up, Percy!” she retorted before turning back to the rest of the room. “This is because of us and you all know it is. Let’s figure this out.”

Percy knew he should be paying attention as they grilled Grog, but he was tired of hearing the man’s excuses, tired of trying to make futile pleas for a bit of common fucking sense, tired of fighting when all it did was land him here. Here, frozen in Keyleth’s spell when he was the one who had been trying to prevent disaster in the first place! And now Grog—Grog who had just tried to shatter the fucking skull—got to argue his fucking case while Percy was bound as if _he_ was the instigator who couldn’t be trusted. Fuck this whole situation. Fuck him for expecting justice and fairness even from his own friends. Fuck the whole fucking thing.

Through his silent fuming, he became aware of a shift in the conversation. Everyone was now paying attention to Vex, even following her out into the hallway. Still stuck in his corner, Percy could only strain to hear the edges of their conversation, calling strangled noises in hopes they would remember he was still there. Oh gods, if they forgot him and left him alone there, still frozen, he would find such a way to make them pay later…

But the others returned back into the room, noticeably calmer and with Scanlan now among them. Before he could catch their attention, the source of the sudden new calm followed them in. Percy couldn’t have articulated the relief he felt at seeing Allura even if he had had control of his body. It was the same profound sense that all was under control that his mother had exuded back in those simpler days when his biggest frustrations were his siblings taking one of his tools or books. For a heart-stuttering moment he saw her eyes and expression on Allura’s face before he forced himself back into the present disaster.

“Okay! What have we stepped into here?” asked an unfamiliar dwarven man with her.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, looking over the room. “Uh, I apologize for my intrusion. I had a, uh…”

Her eyes seemed to process the scene around her. Percy frozen. Blood running from a distinctively-shaped wound in Grog’s shoulder. Vex clutching a bundle of tapestry. The overall sense of conflict paused, not resolved.

“Is everything all right?”

Percy grunted, hoping to remind them to free him.

“We could use your help at the moment,” Vex said.

“Things are very tricky,” Percy attempted to say, automatically trying for his usual air of dignity now that they had civilized company.

Allura gave him a very puzzled look, likely not understanding him or the reasoning for his condition, but she pressed on. She introduced the dwarven man currently looking around the workshop as a colleague, which made Percy slightly more at ease at letting the man into his sanctum.

Frustratingly, no effort was made to release him from Keyleth’s hold even as Allura told them how she sensed the effect of Emon’s destruction all the way in Whitestone. It wasn’t until they broke the news of the dragon attack to her that Keyleth finally decided to free him from his indignity and let him relax his arms and recover some semblance of normalcy as he stood with them.

Despite Allura’s shock, they persuaded her to give her insight on the skull. The confirmation of how dangerous and untrustworthy the individual imprisoned within most likely was gave Percy no small amount of smug satisfaction, especially as it finally made Grog resign to the fact that it was not a wise option to take.

However, that small amount of petty enjoyment was quickly overtaken as the reality of the threat outside settled back over them. Worse, the knowledge of the dragons was visibly shaking Allura. That alone twisted fear in his stomach. People like Allura weren’t supposed to have anything to be frightened of. Not with the sort of power she could wield.

His mind flashed again to his mother, to both his parents’ faces when the Briarwoods had enacted their betrayal. The shattering of the illusion of safety his home had represented in his childhood. His family torn to shreds, his naively secure world decimated piece by bloody piece by monsters he never could have foreseen descending upon them…

His hand clenched on the grip of his pepperbox. Gods, how had he ever been fool enough to think everything would be fine again?

The idea that they could have had any role in unleashing this new horror upon the world didn’t help either. The gods knew he had already brought enough new evils into this world. Being party to releasing an ancient red dragon would only further justify his damnation.

No. He and the others hadn’t done anything beyond what an average band of adventurers were capable of. If an evil on the level of an ancient red dragon could be released by their meager escapades, then it hadn’t been very well bound to begin with. He refused to bear culpability for that, nor should any of their group. It wasn’t a fair burden to lay upon them.

But then, when had the universe ever been just?

Fortunately, Allura seemed to agree, and insisted any fault lay with her and the others who had initially imprisoned the dragon in the first place. It didn’t ease the concerns of the party much, but it was a start. Regardless of why it had happened, the danger fell to all of them to deal with now. They needed a plan, they needed answers, and most of all, they needed information.

Allura sensing the fall of Westruun as they spoke only drove home the need for urgency more. Percy found himself doing calculations in his head—distances to Westruun from Emon, the flying speed of an ancient dragon, the distance and strategic value of Whitestone…

None of it was good.  
They ultimately decided to take a moment, allow Keyleth and Allura to scry on her people in the Fire Ashari colony where the red dragon had torn his way into their reality. As they did that, the others were granted a brief time to regroup and think.

Percy sat, exhausted, and for the first time in a long while truly felt the distance he was from Whitestone. His mind was filled with the image of his home under the rule of the Briarwoods, his home beginning to rebuild and recover when they had left after Winter’s Crest, his home burning or choking in poison as dragons descended upon it, his people dying in the streets, his sister dying alone in the snow while he ran, far, far away…

His fingers turned over the gun in his lap as he sat, slowly tracing the chambers of the barrel as he turned it quietly, the familiar movement and metal curves grounding him as things spun incomprehensibly out of control around them. The smell of soot and smoke in the air filled his perception, woven with memories of loss, of fear. Of revenge…

As he turned the barrels again, he became aware of a roughness to the metal that was familiar, but wrong enough in the present to draw his attention. He could feel etched letters under his fingers. One barrel—Ripley’s. Another—Cassandra’s. But the remaining four should be smooth. He had killed those whose names had adorned them.

And yet as his calloused fingers glided along them, he felt the edges of tiny, very present letters.

His heart thudded in his chest and he swallowed dryly. He had known this time would come. From the day he left the final barrel blank to the time Cassandra’s name appeared on it, he knew there would be more names appearing. Orthax had upheld his end of the bargain and he would collect his due.

It would have been nice if he had had the decency to wait until the world wasn’t beset with ancient dragons, but demons had never been noted for their consideration.

Taking a steadying breath, Percy accepted his reality and let himself look down at the names of his new targets.

Huh.

Well. That made things _very_ interesting.

A gasping sob from Keyleth drew his attention back to the room. She stepped back from the crystal ball.

“It destroyed everything. They’ve killed everyone!”

Percy closed his eyes briefly in sympathy. It wasn’t her home, it wasn’t her family, but losing one’s subjects, one’s people, was still a personal offense. Especially for someone like Keyleth, who took on guilt so readily.

He listened as Allura talked her down, reassuring her that terrible as things were, it was their responsibility to deal with it now. He ran his thumb over the barrel again, embracing the weight of the gun in his hand and the power that came with it.

“I’m a firm believer that there’s always a way to victory, if we’re smart about it and we’re quick about it,” Allura said firmly, speaking up to rally all of them as Keyleth had steadied some. “Now, I think we should look for survivors. Gather those we know that can rally to our cause in Emon and beyond. Who do we know that we can count on?”

“Vasselheim, maybe?” Vex proposed. “Contact everyone we know at the Slayer’s Take?”

“Kima can bring in the Platinum Dragon’s followers,” Pike agreed.

“Freddy, I hate to ask given what they’ve just been through, but what about Whitestone?” Vax asked, voice a bit hushed with hesitance.

“They may be able to help if they still stand,” Percy agreed, feeling oddly calm talking about his home’s unknown condition. He stroked one barrel again. “Are we interested in _any_ possible ally?”

The others looked over, recognizing the tone of voice he knew he adopted when suggesting an unorthodox idea.

“Anyone you know who could be of use,” Allura said, interested.

“Percy…?” Keyleth was watching him warily, noting what he was looking at.

Percy stepped forward, holding out the pepperbox for the others to take. “It appears my…benefactor is supportive of our cause.”

Vax reached out and cautiously took the gun, turning it in his hand as the others gathered around. Percy watched them, gauging the expressions on their faces as they read the four new names etched along the barrels of his gun:

VORUGAL  
UMBRASYL  
RAISHAN  
THORDAK

“No,” Keyleth said vehemently, stepping back as if the gun had gone off. “No, we just got you away from that. We’re not doing that again!”

“Keyleth…” Vax tried soothingly, although his free hand had gone up to rub his eyes.

“There are dragons outside right now, killing everyone! We can’t deal with a fucking demon now too! I can’t—Oh god, it’s everything coming back at once.” She sounded near to hyperventilating again.

“Percy,” Vex said, voice low and serious. He turned from Keyleth to see her eyeing him appraisingly. “How long have these been on here?”

“I just noticed them now. They weren’t there when I was cleaning it earlier this afternoon.”

“Just now, as we were learning about them as well?”

“Presumably.”

“Does that mean your…friend is listening in on us right now?” Scanlan asked.

Percy scratched at the back of his head. “One can assume. As much as he always has been.”

He felt the atmosphere in the room chill even further. He couldn’t tell if the others actually did shift slightly away from him or if it was his own projected perception of the situation.

“Complete honesty, Percival,” Vex said, still watching him with those perceptive eyes. “Is Orthax still talking to you?”

Percy exhaled slowly, very aware of the fine-edged sword he walked on. “Not since Whitestone. Not until tonight.”

“God damn it, Percy,” Keyleth groaned, pressing a hand to her head and pacing away slightly.

“He hasn’t given me any commands or exerted any influence on my actions—”

“You can be sure about that?” Vax asked dryly.

“I know what it feels like now. I would know. Besides, he—”

Fuck. Well, deception was only going to make this worse. Fragile as things were, better to be honest now than have them find out later. At least this way he could control the conversation.

“…He wasn’t even the one who initiated contact again.”

There was another precarious moment.

“I’m sorry,” Vax said in that dangerously quiet tone. “It sounded like you said _you_ summoned the _demon_?”

“I reached out for his insight on the matter of the skull,” Percy confirmed, curious how far keeping a matter-of-fact and casual tone would get him before things went to hell.

“And why did that seem like a good idea to you?” Vex asked. He noticed she moved the bundled tapestry a little farther away from him.

“Grog proposed it and the idea had a bit of promise.”

“Did you just hear yourself?!” Vex snapped. “When have you ever thought Grog had a good idea?”

Grog looked slightly offended, but Pike patted his knee, keeping him from interrupting.

“I had already sent him to get Vax or Keyleth. If anything had gone wrong—”

“There are new names appearing on your gun! I think things went wrong!” Keyleth said, jabbing an accusatory finger at the pepperbox.

“That was going to happen one day anyway,” Percy retorted. “At least he decided to choose some reasonable targets this time.”

There was a weird pause in the room. Percy looked around, darkly bemused.

“You didn’t think we finished this at Whitestone, did you? We didn’t destroy Orthax. All we did was buy time. He fulfilled his end of the bargain. I am acutely aware that he is going to collect his payment. But I’m certainly not going to complain if he decides to be useful while doing so.”

Vax was scrubbing his face with his hand again. Keyleth was staring at him wide-eyed.

“Seriously, can you hear yourself, Percy?”

“See? I told you we shouldn’t give him the skull,” Grog muttered quietly.

Pike elbowed his leg gently. “You did try to spike it. I don’t think it was good for either of you.”

“None of this is good!” Keyleth snapped. Vax put his free arm around her back, attempting to calm her.

“In fairness, he came to the same conclusion as Allura that the skull was too dangerous,” Percy offered.

Keyleth huffed an exasperated laugh. “Oh. Good. The alligator says not to pet the snake.”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend I remotely trust Orthax, _or_ that skull, or anything outside our own group right now, to be perfectly honest,” Percy said, trying to keep the frustration low in his voice. “However, as dire as our situation has become…I can’t help but feel this is a potential worth discussing.”

“The option of becoming a hit man for a demon in order to kill the dragons?” Scanlan asked with what might have been sarcasm, might have been actual consideration.

“Not exactly. Not—” He sighed sharply, assembling the words carefully before speaking. “The dragons need to be destroyed. The best efforts of genuinely powerful individuals did not…finish the job. Difficult times sometimes call for…unorthodox alliances.”

“You’re actually seriously proposing this?” Vex narrowed her eyes. “Knowing how things went in Whitestone?”

“You all know the nature of this…deal I apparently made,” he said, gesturing toward the pepperbox. “Orthax could have added more names at any time. Any names he wished. Names of good people, people we care about.”

“Like your sister,” Scanlan put in.

“Yes, like my sister," Percy agreed, not rising to the bait. "But he chose right now to put the dragons on there, the same villains we already have ample reason to want to destroy on our own. Offering his abilities to further that cause. This…” He paused, fingers steepled in front of his mouth, organizing the possibilities even as they raced through his mind. “This is not unintentional. This confluence of goals is…a compromise worth consideration. Shared interests. Kill two birds with one stone. Or four dragons, as it were.”

“I can’t believe we’re even debating this!” Keyleth said. “Percy’s demon is picking enemies for him to kill again! That got pretty fucking fucked up last time!”

“This is different,” Percy argued, although even he knew how narrow the distinction was. “This time I know it’s real and so do all of you. I can recognize his…touch on my mind and prepare for it.”

“Is that why Grog has a bullet hole in his shoulder?” Keyleth prodded.

“He was going for the skull. And Vex.”

“You could have fired a warning shot. You’re a good enough shot. You could have intentionally missed.”

Percy turned to Grog. “Would a warning shot have stopped you?”

Grog snorted, shrugging the now partly-healed shoulder. “Getting shot didn’t stop me.”

Percy gestured toward him, point made. “And I could have shot him somewhere much worse.”

“That’s not the best selling point for your case, Percival,” Vax said wearily.

“Perhaps not, but the argument stands. I have not lost control of my reason nor my actions. I only acted to try to prevent things getting worse, not for my own benefit. I have no interest in power, just seeing these dragons eradicated from our homes. And if worse truly does come to worst, you all were able to drive the demon back last time. This time…you know not to hesitate. Should something need to be done.”

“Great,” Scanlan said with a plastered, nervous grin. “Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.”

Vax blew out a long breath, looking at the floor. “I’m going to regret this and I hate myself already for saying it, but Percival may have a point here.”

“Are you kidding me?” Keyleth asked, whipping toward him.

“It’s fucked up. We all know it’s fucked up. But everything is fucked up right now. Emon is in ruins. Westruun might be a smear on the map now. Who knows where else these monsters are going? People are dying. And we’re _nothing_. Kids with knives and bows and magic tricks. We can’t do this without allies. We’ll get better ones, but…right now, I’m not sure we can afford to turn down any help we might get, however fucking sick it is.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. Not who he had expected to support his proposal, but unorthodox alliances indeed.

“You’re seriously okay with the idea of Percy letting his demon out to play again?” Vex demanded.

“Nothing’s okay. But…” Vax scrubbed his face again. “I was there, before the rest of you joined us. Percy was actually talking sensibly about the skull. Encouraging caution and being insufferably reasonable, like usual. Freddy, you had already started talking to Orthax again by then?”

“Right before you came into the room,” Percy confirmed.

Vax rubbed his hand over his chin, scratching at the slight stubble coming in. Gods, was it all still the same evening? “I’m willing to consider that _maybe_ , perhaps you aren’t being influenced so far. For what that’s worth.”

“Thank you,” Percy nodded.

“And we know from before that I can reduce its effects too,” Pike added, giving Percy a small, reassuring smile. “In person, this time.”

“Wait, so none of you would let me use the skull, but you’ll let him do this?” Grog pointed at Percy with just enough aggression to make him bristle after the previous conflict. His finger twitched but his gun was still in Vax’s hands.

“I wanted the skull to work,” Percy said instead. “I hoped it would be that simple. But it was a very bad deal. This…” He gestured to the gun again. “Is a bad deal as well, but it’s one I already struck long ago and at least it’s a known quantity by now. I’d rather spare us getting into any other unfortunate debts unless they’re guaranteed to be worth it.”

“You know, there’s one other option we haven’t tried yet. I’m just saying.” Scanlan looked up at Vax. “You give me the gun and I go throw it in some acid.”

“You are not destroying my gun.”

“We can throw the skull in too. Make it fair.”

“We’re about to face four dragons and you want to have one _less_ weapon at our disposal than in a normal fight?” Percy demanded.

“He’s right, Scanlan,” Vax sighed. As Keyleth started to protest, he added, “We can’t just throw away a weapon right now. Ridiculous as it is, we have bigger problems than a demonic gun at the moment.”

A polite, if pronounced, throat-clearing reminded them they were not alone in the workshop. Allura stepped forward slightly, a bit hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I wanted to let you handle things within your group, but…I feel I should hear a little bit more about this ‘demonic gun’?”

All eyes flicked back to Percy and he was again overtaken by the sensation of being caught by your mother at something you weren’t supposed to be doing.

“Yes!” Keyleth perked up. “Allura, tell Percy how crazy he is to think about still using that thing!”

“It’s…a complicated situation,” Vex sighed.

“Percy sold his soul to a demon to murder the fuckers who murdered his family,” Grog said.

“Not consciously!” Percy protested. “I thought I dreamt all of it.”

“Well, turns out it was real and Percival’s gun is sort of connected to this demon somehow, though it’s apparently calmed down some since he got his revenge,” Vax finished.

“I see,” Allura said, eyeing Percy in a way that made him wish he was dealing with one of the dragons instead. Dragons were far simpler than disappointed wizards. “May I see the gun?”

Vax looked over to Percy, who waved him to hand it over. “Just mind where the barrel’s pointing. It’s still loaded.”

Allura carefully took the pepperbox from Vax’s hands, reacting with surprise at its weight, as most did when holding it for the first time. Looking it over cautiously, she shifted it into one palm, moving her other hand over it. As her fingers glowed, Percy felt an odd sensation below his sternum, like wires probing at the cold spot that hovered there. He covered his discomfort by shifting his weight, still watching her.

The glow faded from Allura’s hand, but the troubled look remained on her face. “That is a dark curse imbued in this weapon, Percival. I don’t like knowing you have this.”

Keyleth made an exaggerated ‘told you so’-ish look his direction.

“I know,” Percy conceded. “But I like what we’re up against even less.”

Allura touched her forehead, sighing. “I’m afraid I agree. I could attempt to dispel the curse on this or at least begin to contain it, but I wouldn’t be able to do either until tomorrow and I don’t think Drake and I can afford to wait that long before we continue on to Westruun.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Keyleth asked.

“The city has been attacked, but the Cobalt Reserve may still stand. If we can go and stay out of sight, help those we can, perhaps we can gather what bits of research remain and bring them back to figure out how to take down the red dragon for good.” She shook off her concern, focusing on Vax, then each of the rest in turn. “I still would prefer to see this dealt with, but I’m not certain how many high-level magic users out there are not…preoccupied currently. I take it, for the moment, you feel you have this under control?” She gestured to the gun.

“Enough to not be our biggest concern, at the moment,” Vax said. “And besides, if de Rolo starts getting squirrely, we can just let Grog finish what they started here.”

“Oh, all right then. I like that,” Grog grinned, cracking his knuckles.

Percy chuckled. “You’re welcome to try. I would’ve had you back there.”

“He’s delusional,” Grog said. “It’s the demon talking.”

“It’s not the demon,” Vex sighed, giving him a Look.

“I think I should hit him to make sure.”

“No.”

“All right,” Allura said over the conversation, a bit nervously. “In that case, I’ll leave you to make your own plans as we prepare to go on our own way. Percival?” She extended her hand with the gun still sitting on it.

He nodded his thanks, reaching out to take it. As his hand closed over the top of it, her other hand came down on top of his, gently but unbreakably catching his between hers. His eyes snapped up to hers and she held his gaze as firmly as she did his hand. He could feel invisible power humming beneath her skin.

“I do not like you using this weapon. But, as has been said, we have many concerns at this moment that require our attention first. However, if you choose to follow through with this plan, I just need you to promise me one thing.”

“Yes?” he responded, a trickle of fear buzzing around his spine.

“If at any time you feel the demon taking control or find yourself doing things you would not choose for yourself, go to Pike or to Kima or another of similar power and light, and let them help you keep this thing at bay.”

“Of course,” he said graciously, relieved. “I have no intention of letting this monster harm anyone I care about.”

“Good.” Allura nodded, releasing his hand and the gun in his grip. “Make sure you include yourself in that category.”

He blinked, fumbling for words a bit as he stepped back, returning his gun to its holster. “Of course. I will.”

Allura nodded again, then turned her attention back to her dwarven companion and the journey they had ahead of them. Vox Machina likewise began to debate what to do next about the situation. Percy tried to focus, tried to have useful insight, but he had a hard time ignoring Keyleth’s distrustful gaze at the corner of his vision, radiating her opinion about his choice.

And he couldn’t forget the fact that she bound him in magic during the argument earlier while leaving the others free. Very well. If that’s where they stood now, so be it. They had bigger issues to worry about right now.

Later, looking back, he would regret that decision. And would wish that Allura’s request was the worst promise he would break.

But that was later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! My workload is leaving for very limited writing time and these chapters are turning out a lot longer than I intended. (Not sorry about that, though. :) )
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! The deviations from the original plot are getting a bit more noticeable now, and things are getting more real...

It wasn’t right to have to see a city you called home in ruins twice in your life.

Percy had had five years to consider what it would be like to return to Whitestone when his brain dared. To envision the places he knew twisted beneath the grip of the Briarwoods and their monstrous allies. When he finally had returned to the city, it had been with vengeance pulsing through his veins, purpose overpowering the horror, and friends at his side.

None of it made sneaking through the remains of Emon even a fraction easier. If anything, the recency of being in Whitestone only accentuated his anger at the destruction wrought on another place he cared about. The dragons who had caused it were already promised the fury of his weapons, but at this moment they were distant, untouchable, daunting as a nightmare but infinitely more dangerous. And Percy was far too human and mortal.

Also, when they had gone to Whitestone, he was the only one who had known it prior to its fall. Here, he knew the rest of his friends were trying to overlay their memories of the city on the rubble around them. Feeling the loss of their adopted home and its people. Dreading that every body they encountered might be someone they had spoken to, purchased from, interacted with in some personal or even insignificant way when life was normal. And having their fears justified when they found Gilmore agonizingly close to death’s door.

Seeing their pain and grief and fear only fueled his own hunger to bring destruction back home upon these dragons.

_You’ve taken what was mine. That will not go unanswered._

Maybe all of that was why he was sharper with Keyleth than truly necessary after their attempted meeting with the Clasp. Maybe it was how seeing all of the damage firsthand drove home exactly what they were up against and how they couldn’t afford to alienate any potential ally right now. Maybe it was the sheer naivety to think that morality had any meaning or value when dragons were devastating their entire world.

Whatever it was, the fact that Keyleth very pointedly stated that they had enough deals with devils going on already certainly hadn’t helped. Having his judgment called into question not only in front of their group, but around strangers, undermined him insultingly and he let her know as much as they left.

Regardless of the intricacies leading to each reaction, they left Emon without allies, without guarantees, and with tempers even more frayed.

There would be no time for recovery and processing their loss. The refugees they had taken in needed security and resources. Gilmore needed medical care. They all needed a place to regroup and develop some kind of plan. Ultimately, it was determined Whitestone was the best place to accomplish all of that.

Returning to the city, Percy was relieved to see it relatively unchanged from the time they left after Winter’s Crest. How strange that with the rest of the world turned upside down, Whitestone suddenly was a source of stability and safety again. If there was a slight twinge in the shadowy part of Percy’s mind when he spoke to Cassandra again, it was easily ignored. There were far bigger concerns at play and far more enticing targets for Orthax on his List.

With the refugees approved to stay in Whitestone and Gilmore under the care of clerics in the castle, Vox Machina could look forward at last. Allies took priority and they determined their best bet was to return to Vasselheim and beseech the powers there that had survived every previous threat that ravaged the world.

There was another tense conversation between the party about whether it was a good idea to bring Percy anywhere near the Platinum Sanctuary. He pointed out that he had been inside the temple before when they brought the Horn of Orcus last time they were in town, but the others were concerned that given how much Percy’s connection to his demon had progressed, it might be wise not to risk having one of the Highbearers sense any whiff of corruption and deny their cause. Percy rankled again at the insinuation, but agreed to go with the half of the group who would start with the Slayer’s Take and let the others handle the Platinum Dragon’s followers.

The Slayer’s Take proved a fruitful venture, with Zahra and Kashaw agreeing to assist their venture. The sphinx Osyssa’s information proved even more valuable, even if she eyed Percy with that all-too-knowing look. She said nothing about anything she saw in him, however, and they were soon back with the rest of the team, as well as Lady Kima, and on the road toward an artifact that could prove a crucial advantage against the dragons.

Having a mission improved Percy’s mood considerably. They weren’t just running away; they had a chance to obtain another object of power, maybe more than one, and stand a fighting chance against the dragons. Or at the very least take a few out with them as they died. Either way, it was more than they had yesterday.

They located the lake that contained the magic armor’s resting place without major difficulty and made plans for how to reach it. Camping for the night in the trees around the shore to recharge before the challenge, Percy felt pleasantly energized thinking about the step forward they would make the next day.

“How you doing, Freddy?” Vax asked. The man was settled on a branch nearly on the other side of the tree from Percy’s as they took watch, allowing them to cover every direction between the two of them.

“Fine. If you need some sleep, I’m capable of staying awake on my own.”

“Good. That’s good. But I was asking more about how things are going with your, uh, smoky fellow.”

A little streak of annoyance crept through Percy’s mind, but he answered calmly, “Things are fine. Very quiet.”

“No commentary since he put the names on your gun?”

“None. I imagine those instructions were clear enough.”

“Yes. Yes, they are.” He shifted on the branch. Even though Percy wasn’t directly facing him, he could tell Vax was fidgeting a bit, knew him well enough to picture the troubled expression on his face. “Look, Percival, I don’t want you to think that any of us distrust you.”

Percy huffed a slight bitter laugh.

“Or think ill of you now or judge what you’re doing. We’re just concerned.”

“I have no intention of letting Orthax hurt any of you.”

“Good. I’m very glad to know that. But I was thinking on rather bigger terms.” He paused again for a moment. Percy waited patiently, watching the moonlight gleam on the surface of the nearby lake, rippling momentarily as something from underneath briefly disturbed the surface.

“We’ve never faced anything like this,” Vax said finally. “One dragon, a city of undead and vampires, but this?” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, staring into the woods, but his mind most likely elsewhere. “To deal with this Conclave, to even _survive_ this, I’m worried we’re going to be required to do some terrible things. And that’s fine; that’s necessary. But I don’t want any of us to lose who we are in the process.”

Percy mused on that for another moment, glad that Vax knew _him_ well enough that he didn’t press the conversation, trusting Percy was giving his concern consideration, not ignoring him.

“For what it’s worth,” Percy said, scratching at his brow a bit, “I think it would be impossible to come through a…a loss and a war like this without being changed in some ways. I would honestly be a bit afraid of anyone who could. And I do think putting our own fears about morality above taking the necessary steps to remove these creatures would be an indulgent disservice to all the people counting on us to protect them. But between all of us, hopefully we can manage some road in between that allows us to get the job done without sacrificing more than we are able to live with.”

There was another long moment of quiet. Percy started to assume Vax had accepted that and was finished talking, or did _not_ accept that and was finished talking for that reason. But then, he spoke again in a tone far quieter, but no less intent.

“Was it worth it?”

Percy glanced over.

“Making that bargain? Getting revenge for your family?”

Percy drew a long breath slowly, exhaling it softly as he looked back out over the lake. His finger traced one of the inscriptions on the barrel of his gun as he considered that question for perhaps the dozenth time since they had retaken Whitestone.

“I will admit it…did not change as much as I had hoped. Revenge didn’t bring my family back. It didn’t erase what had happened or…satisfy the pain of all those years. But it did remove some truly terrible people who were continuing to do harm to the people around them and would have done worse things if left in power. So yes, I do believe the world is ultimately better for the choices I made.”

He wasn’t sure that answered Vax’s question completely, but it was what he had.

“The red dragon, Thordak. He’s the fucker who killed our mother. Vex’s and mine.”

Ah. Percy inhaled again at that revelation. “I see.”

“I know we’re going to face him,” Vax continued. “I know we’re going to do everything in our power to slay all of them. But that one… I want to be the one who slits that dragon’s throat. I want to rip out whatever it uses for a heart. For our mother. For Vex. For what it took from us. I want that one dead more than any of the others. After I do some truly horrible things to it.”

Percy finally understood what this whole conversation was about. Vax was seeking some sort of approval, of absolution, or maybe just understanding. An assurance that his dark side was a more acceptable form of darkness than he feared.

“We are going to destroy the dragons,” Percy agreed. “And I cannot promise you what you will feel when we face Thordak himself. Whether you will have any…flicker of hesitation or conflict.”

“I won’t,” Vax interrupted.

“I _can_ say,” Percy continued, “that in this situation, there is no benefit to be gained from holding back. If Thordak lives, thousands more will suffer and die. His destruction is necessary. It is just. Whether he is killed for some kind of pious duty or out of passionate emotion makes no difference. Only that he is destroyed.

“But I will say this as well. Killing Thordak will not ease your loss, but you can use that anger as a tool. Add it to your ammunition and let it harden any doubts or squeamishness you may have to do what must be done.”

There was another pause. Percy could feel this was not giving Vax the reassurance the man needed. 

He sighed. “After…everything, I avoided returning to Whitestone for years. I knew the Briarwoods were there, but I was…afraid to face them again. To know that what happened was real and not some terrible nightmare I had yet to wake up from. Even with the gun, I went after Ripley first, far from home. It was having all of you that finally gave me the ability to return there and deal with the situation.”

He exhaled again and glanced Vax’s way. “And now my home is a sanctuary for others, and I have a sister again. You all made that possible. And I promise you when we face Thordak and the rest of the dragons, it will be together. And I will do whatever I can to help you as you helped me.”

Though Percy could barely make out Vax’s face in the darkness, he could see a small smile break through his perennial worry. Amazing how a bit of pat emotion could do more than hours of thoroughly considered logic.

“Thank you, Percival.”

“Of course.”

“And once this is all over, we’ll help you deal with that demon in your gun as well.”

Percy was less convinced about that, but he didn’t say so, just looking over the lake, finger still trailing over the names on the barrels. “Once this is all over.”

OOO

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. The next day brought the challenge of manipulating water to reach the bottom of the lake, a battle with fish-people, and facing yet another beholder in the dark tomb beneath the water. All in all, a very welcome sense of familiarity compared to what they were facing outside. Perilous as it was, Percy fell back into a rhythm he had learned by rote over the past few years, fighting alongside his friends, and despite some close calls, they soon had prevailed and were the last ones standing in the room they had sought.

And there was the casket with the vestige of the Raven Queen’s champion.

Percy wished he could say his hand moved without his command. He wished he could know smoky voices in his ear prevented him from hearing Vex start to check the tomb for traps. But his failure was all too damnedly human. He was tired, he saw the target of their quest, and in his single-minded focus, triggered the very trap Vex was trying to detect.

He had almost laughed, sitting up after. Another threat dodged despite their stupidity. Something to laugh about over drinks later. _My gods, can you imagine if…_

But he didn’t have to imagine. It was all too real when he saw Vex lying on the floor, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Too cold beneath his hands as he scrambled across the stone floor and checked for a pulse, denial warring with the all-too-familiar evidence of a body being lifeless. Vex— _(Cassandra, Vesper, Courtney)_ —dead, undeniably dead. And all by his own fucking fault.

He heard Trinket’s distressed lowing by his ear, wasn’t sure if he actually yelled for the others to help or if his voice had frozen in his throat. His mind raced. Guilt later. Fix the problem now. Why the fuck hadn’t they brought Pike?!

In his moment of desperate panic, he reached out to the shadows in the back of his mind.

_What would it take? For her life? How many more names? They’re yours if you fix this._

He felt the little rumble deep in his brain, smelled a hint of smoke on the air.

**Interesting. But that is not within my power.**

_Then what good are you?!_ Percy slammed off the contact and focused back on the nightmare in front of him instead.

The others had caught up by now, the horror and fear spreading through them like a spark through kindling, slow at first, then suddenly all-consuming. The suddenness of it, the abrupt change after victory, slowed everyone’s responses. As did climbing out of the pit in the hallway…

If Percy thought Trinket’s pain was upsetting, Vax’s anguish dug beneath his armor of shock, cankering in his chest with the guilt.

It took every ounce of restraint Percy had not to snap at Kashaw for hesitating to resurrect her. He was the only cleric there, the only chance for her survival. How dare he even consider just letting her die because he was afraid of his goddess? So he was bound to a powerful dark entity who could end the world. Make it work for him! Get something out of the situation!

Ultimately, the others managed to persuade Kashaw to start the ritual. Percy dredged his mind, trying to remember what had worked when they had done the same for Pike. Gestures. Offerings. Magic never came without a cost and gods needed enticement to care about the affairs of mere mortals.

Zahra had already stepped up first, offering the gem from her staff tearfully. Percy saw the magic surrounding Vex’s body brighten slightly. Good. That boded well.

Percy dug through his own pockets and pouches. He had been the cause of this; he would be part of what fixed it too. But what was worth Vex’s soul? Gold seemed crass in this circumstance, even if it was for Vex. He had no intention of defiling her ceremony by introducing his gun into the divine energy. Perhaps something he built? Something unique?

His mind clicked on an idea. He pulled the piece of residuum he had taken from home out of his pocket. Of course. It could enhance magical energy. Perhaps it could amplify the others’ offerings, like a focusing lens. If nothing else, it was one of the highest value materials Whitestone had to offer. His family and city had died for it. Maybe that would be enough.

He placed the green glass on Vex’s chest beside Zahra’s moon stone. It looked dull and artificial beside the radiance of her gem, but he tried to ignore that. Instead, he focused on hoping it would be enough.

_Come on. It’s one mortal life. Surely you wouldn’t miss it if you gave it back for a while._

For a moment, the divine energy gleamed through the glass’s depths, making the whole piece glow slightly. Percy held his breath.

Then, as abruptly as Vex had been taken from them, the energy flared and the residuum shattered into fragments.

Percy flinched backward, falling back onto his heels. He tried to remember if anything like that had happened during Pike’s ritual. He thought all of the offerings were intact at the end of it.

His eyes flicked back to Vex’s face, hoping in the rising fear of his suspicions. But she was still unmoving. Still unbreathing. Just…still.

“Fuck!” He sat back, scooting away from her. It wasn’t enough. He had been rejected. Shaken and stunned, he tried to drift into the background, wrapping in on himself as he watched the others try again. He was only making things worse right now.

He heard Vax snarl a plea to the Raven Queen. The desperation and fury in his voice echoed through Percy’s hollow chest. He knew viscerally well what drove people to such bargains.

_May it work out better for you than it did for me._

He wasn’t sure if Vax got a response or exactly what happened for the rest of the ritual. Huddled in himself, intentionally distant from the cluster of fear and grief surrounding Vex’ahlia, he couldn’t focus on individual words or movements. It was only when he finally heard the gasp of breath and saw Vex’s form surge back to life that a sick relief broke the spell that transfixed him.

She lived. It was horrible. He had done something unthinkable. But she lived and it was over.

He avoided her eyes as much as possible as she recovered and made sense of what happened, but did not deny his part in it. He never could lie to her anyway.

They collected the vestige, more shaken than celebratory, and made their way back to Whitestone without further incident. When they needed someone to help them understand the nature of the objects they now held, Percy led them to Keeper Yennan for his insight on religious artifacts. Being around the man he had known since his childhood helped Percy put on his façade of nobility again, as did focusing on the task at hand. There would be time all too soon to deal with the consequences of his lapse in judgment, but work first.

Yennan explained the nature of the necklace they found with the vestige, but opted to hold onto the armor for a time to analyze it thoroughly, with their approval. As they left, the cleric touched Percy’s shoulder, holding him back for a moment.

“Percival—Lord de Rolo,” he amended, a distinction that still didn’t sit right with Percy, especially with how he felt that day. “Is anything wrong? Other than the dragons, of course.”

For a brief moment, looking at that face he had seen for so many years, Percy considered how bad it would be to tell him about the bargain, the gun, the deal he had made to take their home back and restore the lives of his citizens. Even if that last part was just a side benefit of his true intention.

But instead, he simply patted Yennan on the shoulder in return and said, “It’s just been a trying day, Keeper. Several, honestly.”

The old man smiled benevolently and squeezed his shoulder once more. “Well, if you ever need to unburden yourself, we are always here for you.”

“Just getting some answers on that armor would be the best thing you could do right now. Thank you.” And he walked away from the cleric and the memories that still haunted his temple.

With nothing else required of them at the moment and exhaustion hanging heavily over them, the rest of Vox Machina and their allies decided to go their own ways for a bit. Percy’s workshop in the castle beckoned—he would have rare enough opportunities to replenish his ammunition now and he had a distinctive project in mind for that night—but he knew there was one piece of business that needed dealing with sooner than later.

Stepping up beside Vax, who had been shadowing his sister even more closely than usual since the close call, Percy said softly, “Could I speak with you privately for a moment before you go?”

Vax hesitated, looking at Vex, but she was distracted talking to Zahra and he seemed to consider that safe enough. “All right.”

Vax signaled Vex he would be right back and they stepped away from the group. Percy led him around the side of the temple, still outside, but affording them as much privacy as the middle of a township could provide. Some conversations deserved to be had out of the public eye, for the sake of all parties involved.

“Yes, Percival?” Vax asked, clearly wanting to get this done with and get back to Vex’s side.

“I had a careless moment,” Percy said, likewise cutting to the point. “And you’re the first apology I’m putting forward. I don’t know if I would have done anything different, but I hope you know that I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Vax stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Oh. Percy realized abruptly that Vax hadn’t even put together that he was at fault for what happened in the tomb. But everyone else knew, so Percy continued. “I rushed in and triggered the trap that almost killed your sister.”

“That _killed_ my sister,” Vax correctly flatly.

“I can’t say that.” He wasn’t even sure why. It had happened, yes, but somehow speaking the words gave that horrible moment more reality than it had already claimed.

Vax seemed puzzled by that too. “What do you mean?”

Percy ignored him and pressed on. “I was careless.”

Vax shifted his stance, wary and intensely focused now. “What happened, Percival?”

“I felt the danger had passed and I moved too quickly and opened the casket without thinking. That’s all. I just didn’t think.”

“You opened it?” Vax said, incredulity cutting through the flat tone. “Just like that?”

“I was tired, wasn’t thinking.” Percy felt he was rambling a bit now, but damn it he was _still_ tired and shaken too. “Sometimes we move too quickly. But I want you to know that it would’ve… I’m very glad that she’s alive. Because I don’t think I could have lived with myself.”

Vax was still staring at him, his eyes a lot harder now. “You were tired?”

“Yes. Although I know that’s not enough of an excuse—”

“No, it’s not. And I’m asking this, Percival, because enough has gone to shit already, but think back. And be completely honest with me. Is the only reason you opened the casket because you were tired and careless?”

Percy paused, the meaning behind Vax’s question sinking in. “Vax, I swear to you, Orthax had nothing to do with this.”

“Are you certain? You were in full control of your actions when you set off the trap?”

“Yes! It was stupid and careless, but it was not done intentionally. I would never—” Even now, he still couldn’t say it. The memory of Vex’s lifeless eyes staring past him, her body cold under his hand… “I was short-sighted and made a mistake, one that came far too close to being a disaster. But it was a human one. One any of us could have made. If Orthax wanted one of us dead, I doubt he would be that subtle or random.”

Vax scrubbed his face with his hands. Percy noticed peripherally that the man looked decades older than he had that morning. “All right. Could you do me a favor?”

“Yes,” Percy agreed immediately. That was what the rest of today was about. Make things good in the eyes of the group again.

“In the future, if there is anything that your little heart desires inside of a box, in the future could you check with my sister or myself first?”

He stifled his twinge of irritation at the condescension in Vax’s voice. It was warranted, after all. “That’s the hope, yes. That was more of a lesson than I was hoping for. Thankfully not too much of one.”

Vax seemed about to say something about that, but apparently changed trains of thought. “Be that as it may, I think this is also proof that it’s time to stop this.”

Percy frowned, a weird mix of confusion and fear growing in his stomach. “I beg your pardon?”

“This whole…bargain. This juggling act you want to do, indulging your demon to get power. It’s done. Now.”

Percy took a slight step back, straightening, but forced his voice to stay calm. “Vax, I know you’re angry at the moment—”

He huffed a dark laugh. “Reasonably so, I think.”

“Agreed, but Orthax had nothing to do with what happened. It was my own careless misstep, nothing more.”

“See, I don’t know if that’s better or worse, Percival!” Vax’s voice was tight now, a man making a valiant attempt not to yell where others might hear them. “I vouched for you when you asked to be trusted to outwit a fucking demon! I argued that you were clever enough and rational enough to handle it. And then you get my sister killed because you didn’t think to check an ancient tomb for fucking traps! That’s a beginner’s mistake, man!”

Percy breathed a few times, reining in his temper. Rising to the argument would only make things worse, especially when he had such shaky ground to stand on. “That’s fair. And I cannot apologize enough for what I did. All I can do now is prove to you in the future that I have taken the consequences of my actions to heart and will never let it happen again.”

“Dragons are burning the world to the ground! There are people dying out there, their fate in our hands. There’s no time for a learning curve right now. Give me one good reason why we should continue trusting you with that weapon.”

Percy considered his options. Emotion over logic with Vax, especially when it was rooted in truth. “I don’t want to cheapen anything about what happened today. But if there is any positive outcome going forward, perhaps it is that seeing the reality of what mistakes can cost is far more effective than just knowing they are possible. I never want to see anything hurt Vex like that again. I…will not quickly forget what happened. What almost happened. And I have no desire to ever be the cause of something like that again. Especially where my guns are involved.”

Vax sighed, rubbing his eyes. Percy knew nothing he said would make everything all right again immediately. But he hoped it was enough to at least move one concern off of Vax’s mind for the moment. The man looked like he had plenty of other concerns he would be brooding on now.

A brief flicker of thought went through his head and was out before he could filter it better. “Are you more worried about my deal with a dark entity now that you’ve made one of your own?”

He saw the shift in Vax’s stance, suspected what he was about to do, but the fist that cracked across his jaw was still fast enough to catch him by surprise. He felt his hand move toward his holster, but stopped it, forced his tense posture to ease. There was no ground to gain from a fight. Vax needed to vent his anger. Percy could accept that graciously.

Vax glared at him, his eyes cold as ice now as he looked over Percy, rubbing the knuckles of the hand he had just struck with. “One more mistake, one more person gets hurt, and this is over. If you hurt _Vex’ahlia_ , even unintentionally, I will end this, _immediately_. However I have to.”

Percy touched the edge of his jaw, felt the dull throb that would no doubt become a bruise shortly. “Very well.”

Vax accepted that, brushing past Percy to head back to the others. “Good night, Percival.”

“Good night, Vax.”

It was only mid-afternoon, Percy noted, but he understood the message beneath Vax’s parting: _I don’t want to see you again today._ For all that Vax rejected his high-born father, he had a knack for the passive-aggressive politeness of nobility.

Percy drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly, feeling the anger stoke then even out as he did so like the fires of his forge until it settled to a steady background burn. Then he straightened his coat, worked his jaw slightly to test its movement, and headed back down to his workshop. He would need more than words to offer Vex.

OOO

Fortunately, Vex was far more forgiving than her brother. Percy presented her with his attempt at a siege arrow that he worked up during the night and she accepted it gratefully. She was as warm and teasing as she had ever been, even expressing concern about the bruise on his cheek, and if she had any worries about his judgment or situation, she kept them to herself.

Vax was more civil than their interaction the previous day had been, although he maintained more distance than he had in the past. He and Keyleth seemed even closer than before, huddling together whenever Vax’s focus wasn’t completely on Vex. Now and then the two of them would stop talking when he approached or cast a pointed look his way, but if being the subject of gossip was part of his punishment, Percy could deal with that. He had had three sisters; he could endure whispers and a very pointed cold shoulder for a while.

For his part, he focused on being useful and accomplishing their goals. They sorted out the Raven Queen armor and crystal pendant from the tomb, distributing them between Vax and Vex respectively, then helped Keyleth check on her Fire Ashari cousins. In a spot of rare good luck, there were actually a few survivors, albeit dealing with rebuilding the rubble of their own home. Helping drive back the intruders from the Fire Plane was a welcome respite from the trauma of the past few days. Battle was simple and if there was any extra smoke around him when he fought, it was impossible to tell from the smoky atmosphere around them.

With Keyleth feeling steadier seeing her people alive, they decided it was time to seek out the sphinx Osyssa had mentioned in hopes of gaining more powerful weapons. And for a time, things finally felt normal again. Yes, they had to pass through Westruun and see another city they knew in ruins, but Percy was beginning to become numb to the destruction by now. And they actually had Pike back with them for a while, which generally made everything they did better. The sphinx’s lair was surprisingly enjoyable in its way, a set of puzzles and challenges that took his mind off the perils and traumas of recent days.

It was a rough fight, but their persistence and cleverness was rewarded mightily. The sphinx—Kamaljiori, he remembered with a certain amount of pride—had given them not just information on one weapon, but an entire list of them. Percy appreciated the direction of a list. A clear plan of what needed to be done with an assured outcome at the end.

They had a purpose. They had a goal. Everything was falling into place.

Until Craven Edge killed Grog.

It was ridiculously stupid in the way only trouble involving Grog could be. They had prevailed. They were settling in to rest for a while. And he just walked out into the snow and dropped dead out of the blue, with no greater warning than a mention that he was hungry.

For the second time in far too few days, the group scrambled to cluster around a fallen friend, stunned by what had just happened. Pike ripped the sword off of his body, throwing it as far from him as she could. Insightful one, always.

The others were arguing frantically about what to do, but Percy found himself staying back, eyes on the dark sword lying deceptively inert in the snow. He heard them pleading with Pike to heal him, heard some branch off to look in the sphinx’s cave again, but it was all distant. His focus narrowed to the obsidian blade that had once belonged to the man who murdered his family.

That was now murdering his family again.

Frustrated, Percy snatched up the blade and stalked over to a corner of their shelter, propping it against a wall. And he crouched in front of it and glared at its wicked, curved edges. In his periphery, he heard Pike start the resurrection ritual, her divine light seeming to be absorbed by the dark blade rather than glinting off it. He heard the pleas for Grog’s life start, but paid it little attention.

His entire world focused down to the cursed blade. He remembered the feel of it slicing into his flesh as he fought Silas, how it drained his very strength with its bite as though it were a vampire itself. He remembered the deep voice hissing to him when he dared to pick it up the first time since the fight. Remembered the weight and the cold not so unlike his gun but feeling far more primal and brutal.

And he remembered offering it to Grog, with the whispers of the voice still echoing in his mind.

Backlit with the glow of divine energy, he leaned in toward the sword and snarled, in the most quietly threatening voice he knew how to muster, “If I were you, I’d put it back. Or else it will be the last meal you ever eat, because I will find an abyss so deep and so far you will never taste a drop of blood again!”

As he had hoped, the blade responded. Shadow began to seep off the blade, rising in the air in what he assumed was the sword’s attempt to intimidate him. At the same time, a deep, raging bellow resonated from within the blade, Grog’s voice screaming in either fury or pain.

Percy almost smirked at the pedestrian display. Bracing into a more stable crouch, he unleashed the smoke in the back of his own mind, feeling the matching cloud billow up over him to counter Craven Edge on his own ground. 

_This is how you want to play? You’re not toying with a barbarian oaf anymore. You remember me. How this ended last time. How much do you really want to see this out again?_

He heard a commotion behind him, more yelling, and figured the sword was making another attempt to frighten him and the others. He didn’t break focus, leaning even heavier into his connection with Orthax. The shadow form over him towered higher and more aggressively over the spirit rising from Craven Edge and he noted on the periphery of his vision that the front edge of it narrowed into a beaklike shape. Percy channeled all of his hatred and fury and utterly unimpressed derision into the extension of himself until it was a looming, fearsome thing, dwarfing the essence of the blade.

A little smirk spread across his face as he saw the other shadow form actually give ground, sputtering at the edges. He called up an extra level of suggestion and growled, “Give him back, _now._ ”

And to his immense satisfaction, he saw his own shadow spread even further, pushing the form of Craven Edge back until, with a frustrated snarl, the last connection to Silas’ evil retreated back into the sword, leaving only a black aura around it.

At the edge of his awareness, he heard Grog calling his name.

“Little busy,” he said, wondering if his voice actually sounded as raspy as he thought it did.

He heard the stomping of the Goliath’s feet coming toward him. Craven Edge flared a bit, trying to expand.

“Ah! No, you don’t,” Percy snapped, his own shadow form advancing again.

He felt others race to stand in front of him, apparently blocking Grog from reaching him and the sword. Good. Being bumrushed by a Goliath again would not be helpful just now.

“You’re not touching that sword,” Pike commanded Grog.

“This has been something on the tip of our tongue for weeks,” Vax agreed. “Let it go. Whatever that thing is, it’s fucked! Let it go!”

“But it’s my sword,” Grog argued petulantly.

“It was never your sword, was it, Grog?” Keyleth asked.

“I mean, Percy gave it to me, but it’s mine.”

Shit.

“ _Percy_ gave it to you?” Vex asked.

“Wait, Percy gave it to you?” Keyleth joined in.

Gods dammit.

“Yeah,” Scanlan said. “Yeah, he let him have it.”

“Yeah, we traded. Fair and square,” Grog explained.

“What did you say?”

Funny how much Vax’s voice carried for as hushed as it was.

He could feel all the eyes in the group burning into his back through the aura of smoke.

“Is Grog all right now?” he asked.

“Appears to be,” Vex answered. “Are you?”

“Much better now.”

Percy started letting his smoke form back off tentatively. The shadow around Craven Edge didn’t lunge forward. In fact, it began to recede back into the sword.

Satisfied, Percy dropped the smoke, letting it evaporate away on the breeze. Instantly his muscles felt weak from the exertion and he dropped forward on his knees, catching himself on one hand. A few hoarse coughs wracked his throat, but he was able to clear it quickly enough.

“I don’t think it’s going to try anything again for a while,” he said, sitting up straighter, but still not letting the sword out of his sight. Just in case.

“Good. Great. Uh, Percy?” Vex said. “Grog just said you gave him that sword.”

Percy exhaled slowly. “I did. Needless to say, I was not aware of the…extent of its abilities.”

“How much were you aware of?” Vax asked, his voice cold.

Percy sighed. “Clearly not enough.”

He knew Vax wanted to push him on that evasion, but Scanlan spoke up first.

“That sword—Grog, listen. When I experienced the sword, it was pretty cool, and it is a powerful, powerful weapon, but after seeing what it’s just done to you, I don’t think you can have it, man.”

“Scanlan?” Even without looking, he heard the betrayed tone in Vax’s voice.

“Percy, what did you get from it?” Pike asked. “Did it say anything useful?”

He started, slightly surprised. He wasn’t expecting the conversation to switch back to problem-solving that quickly. It always caught him off-guard when Pike was unfazed by potential evil.

“Not much. It desired a wielder that would feed it.”

“Oh, and your first thought was, ‘This is something it would be a good idea to give Grog’?!” Keyleth snapped.

“That’s what I would think,” Grog grumbled.

“I didn’t know what it could do,” Percy bit out, a bit harsher than he had intended. His mind still felt a little sharp-edged after connecting with Orthax.

“But it talked to you. How’s your track record going with weapons that talk to you?” she retorted.

“Look, we can argue about who to blame later,” Vex interjected. “Right now, what are we going to do to get rid of this thing?”

“I doubt any of you want my thoughts,” Percy said.

“No,” Vax said very firmly.

Percy nodded his head, acknowledging. He kept one ear on the conversation as they debated how to deal with the cursed sword. The rest of his focus remained on the sword, daring it to make one more twitch in the wrong direction. Part of him hoped it would just so he could vent some of his irritation on it.

Ultimately, they decided to have Pike attempt to use Greater Restoration to sever the bond between the sword and Grog. Percy deferentially slipped out of the way, watching with no small amount of respect as Pike strode forward toward a sword taller than she was, basked in the radiant glow of her goddess. The shadow began to stretch forward again toward her and Percy started to call up his smoke again, but Pike just gestured him to stay back. She continued to reach forward, pushing her hand _through_ the shadow to touch the metal. She seemed to be staring through it, maybe at something none of the rest of them could see.

Then in a definitive movement, her hands, still in the Gauntlets of Ogre Strength, wrenched fiercely, snapping some invisible bond like the neck of a chicken.

Percy thought he heard the sword’s voice roar in his mind before it cut off abruptly. Behind him, he heard a thud and saw Grog flung backward in the snow, but at least alive this time. He was indignant and confused, but alive and seemingly released. Percy arched a brow back at Pike, her air of seriousness immediately dissolved as she rushed back to her best friend, all joy and relief.

Looking back at the now lifeless metal sword, he mused how interesting it was that she could be just as terrifying bathed in light as he had hoped to be covered in shadow.

“Grog? Are you all right?” Pike asked.

He looked around, bewildered, as if really seeing the area for the first time. “That sword ate my soul!”

Scanlan chuckled, tiredly. “Yeah, it did, buddy.”

Grog stared at the sword, a look of betrayal on his face. “How could I have been so foolish? This whole time, that fucking blade has been using me!”

“Hey, Pickle,” Vax said, the term of endearment belying the chill in his voice. “Do you think you could try that on de Rolo’s gun too?”

“It won’t work,” Percy commented wearily, still sitting in the snow.

“I don’t honestly trust your judgment right now,” Vax snapped, the pretense of calm finally boiling over.

“We do have a two-for opportunity here,” Scanlan agreed. “Keyleth opens the pocket dimension, we throw both the sword and the gun in there.”

“Do _not_ do that!” Percy retorted with a nervous laugh.

“Scanlan, that sounds like a brilliant idea,” Vax said, crossing his arms and ignoring Percy.

“The demon isn’t in the gun,” Percy pointed out. “Getting rid of the gun won’t change anything except leave me without a weapon to fight the dragons!”

“You have Ripley’s gun, you have Bad News. You’re plenty well-armed,” Keyleth snorted.

“And it’s, what, six names? I’m sure you can remember them without a list,” Scanlan said.

Percy grunted in exasperation, trying to come up with some kind of argument they would actually take seriously and not write off as the demon talking through him. But nothing came to him. He slumped a bit, rubbing his eyes with a heavy exhalation.

“Percy?”

He looked up tiredly at Pike’s voice. “Hm?”

“May I see your gun?”

He hesitated, instinctively tightening his hand around the stock in its holster.

She gently reached forward and touched his knee. “I promise, I won’t do anything without talking about it first. I know it’s important.”

If it had been anyone else, he probably would have denied them. But he sighed again and carefully handed the weapon to Pike.

The pepperbox looked gigantic in her hands and her arms sank a bit as she took it despite the gauntlets. She laughed slightly in surprise. “It’s heavy.”

He sat back, huffing a laugh without any real humor in it. “Yes.”

“A lot to carry.” She adjusted the gun across her palms, holding it with suitable enough care that he didn’t worry it might go off unexpectedly. She examined it, turning it a couple times. “You made this yourself, right?”

“I did.”

“But he helped?”

“I had dreams, flashes of designs, ideas. Inspiration. But I never heard his voice before the Briarwoods showed up again.”

She nodded. “And it’s just made of normal metal? You didn’t put any…gemstones or relics or anything you found in it.”

“No. Just whatever I could buy from the blacksmiths and assemble in the makeshift forge I had then.”

She looked up at him with a slightly exaggeratedly arched brow. “It’s very well made.”

He felt a little bit of a genuine smile quirk his lips. “Thank you.”

She considered it again, then glanced between the gun and Craven Edge nearby. “When I held the blade, I could hear its voice.” Leaning in a bit closer, she wrinkled her face worriedly and hesitantly said, “Orthax?”

For a moment Percy tensed, all hint of levity vanishing. He didn’t think it would do anything—the bargain had been his, no one else’s—but these days who knew?

He saw the others lean in too, hands going to weapons. But only silence responded. The gun was just a gun.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Pike confirmed for the group. She still looked troubled, but thoughtful. “I mean, I can try using Greater Restoration on it, but I don’t really think the gun is the key.” She looked up at him, kind of apologetically. “I think the demon is connected to you.”

Percy almost gestured victoriously that his point was made, but he could tell the others weren’t seeing taking the assessment as calmly as he was. Apparently denial had still been running deep in their minds that this deal was something they could fix easily.

“So, does that mean there’s nothing we can do to fight it?” Vex asked. Percy felt a slight twinge of regret at the concern in her voice.

Pike looked back to him. “Percy, if you don’t mind, I can try doing Greater Restoration on you again. Like we did when we were in Whitestone.”

“That didn’t get rid of the demon then,” Vax pointed out.

“No, but it did have some effect, right?” Pike said.

“It’s worth a shot,” Percy agreed. Then deferred to the rest of the group. “If you all want to try it.”

“Can’t hurt,” Vex nodded. “I hope. And if it does, Pike can heal you, right?”

Optimistic as always, Percy thought dryly, amused. But he sat down more comfortably, carefully took off his glasses, and gestured his willingness to Pike. He couldn’t make out the details clearly, but he saw her make a point of showing him she was setting the gun behind her; out of his reach, but also not in the hands of one of the others. Then she stood in front of him. He closed his eyes, the warm glow of divine energy emanating from her brushing his skin even before her hands touched the sides of his face.

Just as before, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. For a moment, the dragons and the demons and the recent deaths all faded away, and it was just him and Pike in a quiet, warm void. He was reminded of evenings in the library in Whitestone as a child, curled in a chair, immersed in a book, able to disappear from the real world for a few hours before one of his siblings found him and he was forced to participate in reality again. He wondered distantly how much Pike was actually in his mind and if she could see that memory as well.

All too soon, the warmth receded and he drew a deep breath as Pike let go of his face, opening his eyes to the world again. She looked at him, face worried but hopeful.

“Percy? How do you feel?” Keyleth asked from somewhere past Pike.

“Good.” He did a quick self-assessment and found he was right. Some of that sense of serenity had lingered even after Pike ended the spell. The anger and fear that had been his resting state of mind for the last week or so felt more distant now. No tickle of a cough irritated his throat. The edge to his thoughts had dulled some, like suddenly relaxing a muscle he hadn’t realized had been tensed. “Genuinely, better. Calmer.”

Pike’s face brightened in relief.

“Is that it? Did you break the bond?” Keyleth asked.

Now that was hoping for too much. Percy focused and could still feel the cold spot below his ribs and the shadowed area at the back of his mind. They were quiet and still for the moment, but definitely still present.

“I don’t think so,” Pike answered for him as he put his glasses back on. “I was able to remove a bit of the darkness there. It wasn’t as bad as it was in Whitestone. But I feel like there’s a source to it that is going to need something much bigger than I can do right now to get rid of it.”

With his glasses back in place, he could see the disappointment in Keyleth’s and Vex’s faces.

“But it did something, right?” Scanlan asked.

“It felt like it,” Pike said, looking back to Percy.

“I feel different, yes,” he assured her. “Less…agitated.”

“But you still feel Orthax?” Keyleth asked.

“In so much as I always do. Just a background sense. No voices or impulses.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Vex offered with a defiantly cheerful tone.

Vax scrubbed his hands down his face. “Okay. If we’re going to be stuck with this situation for a while, I have two rules I need met to be _remotely_ all right with this.”

“All right,” Vex said curiously.

“One: That thing Pike just did? I think we need her to do that on a regular basis. Preferably daily, but I know she has demands elsewhere.”

Pike nodded, looking back at Percy. “Sure. I can do that.”

Percy frowned. “I hate to have you waste a spell on that every day. I’m sure people are going to need that for healing.”

She just smiled, unfazed. “It’s not a waste. Healing a soul is just as important as healing a body.”

He rankled a bit at that, but didn’t argue with her.

“That’s the other thing,” Vax continued, also now looking at Percy but without a hint of a smile. “As long as this thing is bound to de Rolo, he doesn’t make any decisions or offer any advice that affects the group. Period.”

Percy huffed, arching his eyebrows sardonically. “That should get interesting.”

Vax whirled on him, stepping closer. “Two of us have already died because of decisions you made! We haven’t even faced the dragons yet and the biggest threat in our lives has been you!”

“Vax—” Vex tried to intercede, but he wasn’t listening.

“You want to gamble that you can outsmart a demon and make it play your game, fine. But you’re not taking any more of us out doing it. If you want to be a weapon, then be a weapon. But stop pretending to be anything more.”

“Vax!”

Percy heard Keyleth’s voice, knew the others were watching with similar shock or awkward tension, but his eyes focused on Vax’s unflinchingly. It was interesting: with the cold scorn in his expression and the aging effects of the sphinx’s spells, he looked remarkably like his father. But even Percy wasn’t suicidal enough to point that out just now.

“Great, brother. Real helpful for someone we’re trying to help maintain his humanity,” Vex commented.

“I’m not saying abandon him or give up on him. I just want to control some of the damage he can do until we get that thing out of him.”

“But do you maybe think that’s a little extreme?” Keyleth asked.

“No, it’s all right,” Percy piped up, still watching Vax. “If that’s what Vax needs for his peace of mind, that’s fine. I would do the same thing in his place.”

He managed to resist the slight smirk he felt, wondering how that fact would sit with Vax.

He was also somewhat amused to see how long this would last. By all means, let the others do the talking for a while. See how things turned out.

“Okay.” Pike looked around a little warily. “Are we good? Is everyone okay now?”

“Grog’s alive. We helped Percy a bit. We can get rid of that fucking sword…” Vex said, still watching Vax.

“And we know about the Vestiges now,” Scanlan agreed.

“Right!” Keyleth clapped her hands a little too loudly. “I say we call today a victory and quit while we’re ahead.”

“Rest sounds like a very good idea,” Vax sighed. His voice was still flat, but he put an arm around Vex’s shoulders. “First, Keyleth? Are you good to take care of that sword?”

They settled on the idea of leaving it in the Dread Emperor’s dimension, as that should be empty now. Percy had ideas he thought might be wiser for dealing with it, but he kept them to himself. Instead, he simply watched from a respectful distance as Keyleth actually opened a hole between dimensions just big enough for them to drop Craven Edge through, then closed it up again. That was new. But then, all of them were more powerful than they had once been. And they would be even more powerful once they found those weapons.

Exhausted, they settled into Scanlan’s mansion to take a long rest at last. As they each dispersed to their own rooms, Percy headed to his workshop. He saw Vex start to move toward him, but Vax stepped in to intercept her, his eyes flicking toward Percy with the intensity of a hawk. Percy suspected Vax would be getting an earful shortly about telling Vex what to do and decided to play it up just a bit more. Making sure the man was watching, Percy paused in the doorway to his workshop and gave Vax an excessively formal, polite bow. He felt a warmth of satisfaction as he saw Vax seethe just a bit more before Percy stepped through the frame and shut the door, closing himself off from the rest of the party.

OOO

The obvious next step was to return to Westruun and deal with the Goliath herd squatting in control of it. They encountered a group of refugees of the town, including Scanlan’s old bard troupe and his daughter, and made their plans. Most of the situation was deferred to Grog, since it was his family they would be going up against, but even if it hadn’t been, Percy fully intended to honor Vax’s rules to whatever pointed outcome they led to. He made himself useful, checked in with Pike, and was present for all group discussions, but very pointedly kept his thoughts to himself.

If one of the ways he made himself useful was when Vex requested he start helping her design a saddle for the flying broom she had acquired, well, that was her decision, not his, wasn’t it?

The plan to retake the city was a mess, but surprisingly effective and they managed to get all the way to the heart of town where Grog could officially challenge his uncle for leadership of the Herd. The rest of Vox Machina scattered around the square, taking up positions to be of assistance should things go wrong. Posted atop a building, Percy relished the simplicity of the distance and the targets visible below, the edge it honed on his thoughts.

Of course it went wrong. It always did with them. Kevdak was more powerful than anticipated and quickly the one-on-one battle turned into a massive skirmish. Percy did his best to pick off those he could from his roost, but he was soon targeted himself by archers and climbing barbarians and found himself spending more time preserving his own life than he was able to help the battle.

Grog won, ultimately—through his own craziness and Vex’s clever broom work. But it was bloody and messy and there were civilian casualties that should have been avoidable.

Percy saw Scanlan approach the body of a dead child— _(Oliver, Ludwig)_ —and beseech Pike if there was anything she could do.

Exhausted, limping, and struggling to control his frustrated anger at his uselessness in the fight, Percy made his way to a wall and sat heavily. Tuning out the conversation about resurrections and miracles, he took out his damaged gun and started getting to work on it.

“Yeah, that’s more important than healing a kid,” he heard Scanlan mutter nearby.

His temper snapped viciously. “What am I going to do, _tinker_ him back to life?!”

Scanlan didn’t respond, just looking back at where Pike and Keyleth were setting up the spell, but his disgust was palpable.

Feeling even edgier than before, Percy tried to focus back on his work, shutting out the world around him and its irritations and judgments.

He had managed to do a pretty good job of ignoring the sounds of the ritual starting and the all too familiar atmosphere that took him back to a cold, damp room at the bottom of a lake before an enchanting sound broke through his attention.

A pure voice flowed from Pike, melodic and chiming in a language he had scarcely heard in years. Certainly one that had not been part of Vex’s resurrection. Percy found himself looking up from his work, listening, captivated, to the hauntingly beautiful sound of Celestial in its most divine state.

He knew the language nearly as well as he knew Common. It was considered proper as part of the education of the young nobles of Whitestone, though he wasn’t sure any of his siblings had actually completed their studies of it, save perhaps for Julius. Frankly it was a useless language unless you were a cleric or a scholar. And yet. And yet…

Almost without a thought, he found himself putting his gun down and walking quietly toward the ritual taking place. Ignoring the looks from the others and Vax’s hand reaching for his dagger, Percy just listened to the rhythm, gently kneeling down beside Pike and closing his eyes. When he thought he had the words down, he raised his voice, harmonizing with the high, pure one speaking through Pike.

The tones resonated in the air, complementing each other’s better than even he could have expected. Warmth spread in his chest, a small smile tugging at his lips at the beauty of the sound that took on nearly a life of its own.

And then his throat constricted, as if he had suddenly inhaled a lungful of acrid smoke. His voice broke off in a fit of harsh coughs, forcing him to double over, hacking as if he could clear the discomfort.

When he recovered, he felt a small hand touch his knee. He looked over through watering eyes and saw Pike paused in the ritual, smiling at him benevolently.

“It’s okay. Just be here.”

And then she turned and resumed singing, a single voice in the darkness once more. And as much as he would have wanted to join in again, his throat was rough and sore, the smell of smoke still filling his nose. And his mind flashed back to the residuum shattering on Vex’s chest, his offer rejected once more.

He remained seated by Pike’s side, but in every other way attempted to withdraw himself from the space, barely paying any more attention to the ritual. And as before, the resurrection continued without him and ultimately succeeded in spite of him. As the rest of Vox Machina gathered around the boy, Keyleth healing and comforting him, Percy pushed himself to his feet and limped back to his guns, ignoring Pike’s call as he went.

Well, what did he expect? He had made his choice. He had bartered his soul to be able to bring death to those he despised. Why in the gods’ names should he ever think he would be capable of granting life?

Vax was right. He was a weapon, a force of destruction even in his moments of creation. Denying that was foolhardy at best, a distracting self-delusion at worst. His gift was death and if that was the best he had to offer, he had best get to work making himself useful at that.

Determinedly ignoring the rest of the group, he sat down at the edge of the square and began cleaning and repairing his guns with a renewed ruthlessness. He would not fail again.

OOO

Their lives allowed little time for rest or recovery. While Westruun was now going to be free of the Herd’s occupation, the issue of the black dragon still loomed. Which meant planning and preparations before the next scheduled offering to the creature.

Amidst the clean-up of the city, Vox Machina, leaders of Westruun, and the new leaders of the Herd met to discuss plans. As promised, Percy stood toward the back, listening and watching intently, but contributing nothing.

Eventually the others began to notice.

“Percy, did you have any ideas?” Keyleth asked.

He shrugged. “I’ll build whatever you’d like me to.”

There was a little pause laden with puzzlement and some irritation as the others looked at him.

“You’re actually taking this ‘no decisions’ thing seriously, huh?” Scanlan said.

“Vax made his requirements perfectly clear,” Percy said with disaffected calm. “I am doing my best to honor them.”

“Conveniently meaning you get to sit back and not have to do any planning,” Scanlan commented.

“Do you honestly think this is easier for me?” Percy asked, feeling the pull of his temper.

“ _Do_ you have any ideas for killing this fucker?” Grog asked.

Percy took a breath, turning his attention away from Scanlan. “Possibly. A few. But I’m keeping them to myself.”

The new Goliath leader—Grog’s cousin?—looked between them, brow crinkled in confusion. “For what? I thought that’s what this meeting was for.”

“It is,” Vax said evenly, eyes still fixed on Percy coolly. “But he’s dangerous.”

“Good!” the Goliath snorted. “We need all the dangerous people we can get right now.”

Vex arched an eyebrow at Vax as well with that particular ‘told you so’ air only siblings can truly embody.

Vax sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. “Fine. You can offer input on how to fight the dragons, but _only_ input and _only_ on how to kill the dragons.”

Ah, how quickly the qualifiers started. “Very well. I may have a thought for how to keep the dragon grounded once it arrives…”

And the rest came so easily. The plans for the trap flowed through his mind on wisps of smoke, fearsome jaws of metal and sharp edges coming to life from his paper to the townspeople’s craftsmanship. And soon they were in place, preparing to face down an ancient black dragon.

From his hiding place, Percy’s hand shook slightly as it gripped his gun, but with adrenaline and anticipation, not fear.

His trap worked—of course it did—and they were able to get a few barrages of attacks onto the dragon before it broke free with only a predictable amount of losses to the Herd members. When the dragon was on the verge of getting back into the air, Percy saw the plan forming in Scanlan and Vax’s eyes. A little dark thought trickled through his mind. Before Scanlan could cast his spell, Percy moved to his side and took one of the bags of black powder off his belt, handing it to the gnome.

“Drop that off somewhere useful,” he said to the man’s baffled look. “But don’t set it off until you’re well away from it.” He looked to Vax. “And mind that flaming dagger of yours near it or things could get…very messy.”

Scanlan nodded, gripped the bag in one hand, Vax’s hand in the other, and cast Dimension Door.

Into the dragon.

Percy shouldn’t have been surprised and he wasn’t certain if he was proud. Depended on if they survived, he supposed.

He somehow wasn’t troubled even when the dragon took off with Vax, Scanlan, and Grog on or in its person either. The chase was only further exhilaration, the heady drive of the hunt beating in the back of his mind like the heightened tempo of his heart. Unfortunately, Vax and Scanlan had to bail out without detonating the black powder, but that minor disappointment wasn’t enough to diminish his keenness.

He could almost feel the pulse of the gun in his hand, the smell of black powder rich in the air.

**Yes… Finish it.**

Once he would have considered cornering a dragon in its own lair suicidal at best, damned stupid at worst. Now the voice and the hunger urged him forward. There was a clarity in fighting a dragon. There were no worries about civility or honor. Nothing was off the table. All that mattered was killing the beast before it killed them. This was what everything else, every risk and sacrifice, was for. All he had to do was get out of his own way and let the anger and violence channel through him and out through the weapon.

And it seemed his gamble all this time had been worthwhile. He could feel Orthax rising in his shadow, hastening his movements, steeling his mind against the pain of acid burns and claw slashes. Even his shots seemed to be causing more necrotic injury than they had typically. This was his purpose and everything in his world narrowed down to the dragon and the quest to destroy it.

**There.**

Percy felt his attention shift to the belly of the dragon and focus on the hole Scanlan had left as he forced his way out. The idea blossomed in his mind without words. The sack of black powder, still somewhere in the dragon’s guts, hopefully still intact. It was impossible to say exactly where it was, but given Scanlan’s last location, that hole was the most likely chance he was ever going to get.

He raised his gun, attempting to line up the shot despite his shaking hand. It might not even be there. The sack could already be too wet or destroyed by acid to be of any use. He might not even make the shot at all, a gnome-sized hole in an ancient black dragon’s hide moving in the darkness of the cave.

But if he did…

Clenching his jaw, he felt the smoke curl up his arm, steadying it and adjusting his aim _just_ slightly. And fired.

The bullet went straight in. And the blast rocked the gut of the dragon. Fire and smoke jetted out of the holes in its abdomen Scanlan and Vax had left like a grotesque cannon. It wasn’t enough to shred its entire hide, damn it, but oh, Percy did not envy the state of its internal organs just now.

The dragon’s bellow of agony and fury was all the distraction Grog needed. Riding Scanlan’s magical giant hand, he swung his bloodaxe under the jaw of the monster, slicing deep as its throat was already gurgling with a new stream of acid ready to hurl. The tension in its muscles fell limp and the blade sent it guttering into an ignominious death at their feet.

A disbelieving cheer of victory went up from the rest of the party, but Percy barely noticed. He felt the shadows swell up around him, an intense rush of energy and satisfaction blazing into his body. In his hand, the name UMBRASYL evaporated off his gun barrel with a little flash of purple-black energy.

**Good…**

He drew a deep, contented breath, closing his eyes to savor the moment. When he opened them again, he saw Vax watching him. With his dagger still in hand.

“You all right?” he asked, and Percy had no delusions that Vax was asking about his acid burns.

“Quite,” he answered, smiling slightly. The smoke had all dissipated, he noticed, the voice and drive in his mind quiet once more.

“Good.” Vax sheathed the dagger on his belt. “That worked, but our deal still stands. Understood?”

“I never thought otherwise,” Percy said, giving him a little head bow.

Vax’s jaw twitched slightly, but he turned back to the group, following Vex as she began looting the lair.

Percy felt a clap on his shoulder that nearly jarred him off his feet and made him extremely aware of his acid burns.

“Gotta hand it to you,” Grog said with a gigantic grin, “that trick with blowing up its stomach was _pretty_ amazing. Glad that demon friend of yours is on our side.”

“Certainly beats the alternative,” Percy agreed, taking off his glasses to wipe some soot and blood off the lenses.

“Whatever Vax says, _I_ say let him talk any time,” Grog said in what he probably thought was a stage whisper. Then with another clap on Percy’s shoulder he headed off to revel in his kill with Scanlan and Pike.

Percy maintained his bit of distance as the others investigated the dragon’s loot, instead sitting off to the side cleaning and repairing his weapons. Eventually Pike came over, having noticed he hadn’t received any healing yet and eased the pain of his acid burns.

If she did any kind of perusal of the state of his soul, it wasn’t noticeable and she didn’t say anything about it.

They retired to the mansion for the night in high spirits. Well, other than Vax, who went off on his own early and declined to join the festivities of the others. Percy, still feeling the rush of the dragon’s death, relished Keyleth and Vex’s discovery of a hot spring spa in the cellar of the mansion and even partook of a cannonball contest with the rest of the group. He may have gone a bit further than necessary with the competition, but the additional victory was worth the additional pain and by the time he limped back up to his assigned room, he was filled with the satisfied weariness of a day well spent.

As he toweled off and changed into a looser shirt and breeches for the night, he noticed a little swirl of dark energy slither along his pepperbox.

Specifically, along the now-blank barrel.

The good cheer he had been enjoying chilled slowly.

“Chose another one already?” he asked the seemingly empty air.

There was no response.

He could ignore it. The day had gone so well. Why ruin it by dealing with this tonight when he could simply pretend the gun and the bargain and the remaining dragons didn’t exist until morning?

But he knew he couldn’t. There were no obvious new foes in his life since the dragons. No _good_ option he could think of for Orthax to choose. This would be the test of how much he was truly as committed to this deal as he felt. Or, rather, how much the rest of his friends would be willing to tolerate him taking out strangers for crimes he was unaware of.

No, he had to know. The identity of who his new target was would only trouble his mind the rest of the night anyway and curiosity was so much harder to shut out than worry.

Warily, he stepped over to the desk and carefully lifted the gun, turning the barrels to read the newly-formed etching.

VAX’ILDAN VESSAR

Percy set the gun down. He sat in the chair and stared at it, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. 

The silver letters stared back at him.

“I do not accept this,” he said at last, irritation seeping through his tone. “No. That is not how this is going to work.”

**He has declared that he opposes you.**

“He has every right. I nearly killed his sister. I know that may not mean much to you, but it’s a fairly significant thing to actual people.”

**He will stop you, interfere with our arrangement.**

Percy laughed harshly. “If he does so, it would be fully justified. I know you want more lives, more souls to consume. Fine. I am fully aware what I agreed to. But not them. They are not part of this.”

**That was not the deal. I gave you the first names. The rest are at my will.**

“Strangers, enemies, fine. There is a practical way this can work. But if you threaten my friends, you have to know I will resist you.”

**You will try.**

Percy scrubbed his face, fury burning through him. This had been such a pleasant evening only moments ago. “I do need these people to trust me, you know. They already suspect everything I do. If I were to kill him, they would destroy me in a heartbeat. That would end my usefulness to you pretty quickly.”

**Perhaps, in that respect. Perhaps not.**

Percy decided he did not want to think about that just now. “I won’t do it.”

**Then you would do well to continue focusing on the other names. Before I pick one for you.**

Percy felt his hand move, his arm reaching out without his conscious control and beginning to wrap around the gun. He snarled, wrenching it back from the invisible compulsion. “No!”

**Choose, Percival. Do not keep me waiting too long.**

Percy held his arm against his chest, rubbing his wrist as he felt the cold recede to the back of his mind again.

“Fuck!” He kicked the desk, knocking an ornamental vase with small Scanlan figures cavorting on it to shatter on the floor.

He sat there a moment, face in his hands, just breathing.

“Percy?” a voice called at his door with a gentle knock.

Vex. Shit.

“Everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, scooping up the gun in case she decided to pick the lock and barge in. “Just tripped.”

“You sure? I wanted to check if you needed any healing before bed. That cannonball was pretty intense.”

“I just need to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said brusquely, hoping to discourage further inquisition.

It worked. She paused, then said quietly, “All right. Good night, Percy.”

“Good night.”

He waited until he heard her leave, knowing she was stealthy enough that mere silence wasn’t a confirmation of her absence, then took out the pepperbox again.

The new letters still gleamed at him, unchanged, like an epitaph.

Sighing, Percy decided he was too tired and too sore to deal with this now. He climbed into bed, tucking the gun under his pillow to avoid any prying eyes that may try to snoop as he slept.

Fine. He had already had one barrel that could never be completed. Now he had two. That was all that had changed. He still was able to choose. He just had to make sure he completed the others as Orthax kept filling them and then he would never need to deal with those two names.

This was still manageable. He could make this work. It was fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes the Raven Queen's temple scene, so I'll add a cw tag for drowning, but it's not much beyond Matt's description in the episode.
> 
> Sorry for the long delay since last chapter! The back half of the semester wiped out my free time. Hopefully the length of this one helps make up for the wait!

It should have been a time of celebration. They had killed their first dragon. Pike and Grog’s home was saved and beginning its stages of rebuilding. Grog’s herd was under the leadership of his cousin, his father’s death avenged. It was all so thematically redundant Percy found himself wondering again if he truly was imagining their life and his brain was just beginning to cycle the same story arcs in new ways.

Even down to there being another name of someone he cared about on his gun. Admittedly, that aspect felt like something his mind would come up with, so he couldn’t really blame himself for his doubt.

But regardless of if it was real or not, the next week or so fell into a welcome haze of mundanity. There was more than enough manual labor and tedious civil meetings to keep everyone occupied. He was able to keep it from being obvious that he was avoiding the rest of Vox Machina by burying himself in work rebuilding elements of the town. He stayed useful, stayed out of the spotlight, and was relieved no one asked him about his gun.

And if he worked hard enough and pushed close enough to exhaustion, he could fall asleep without having time to think about the new name on the barrel or feel the impatient voice in the back of his mind.

With Westruun on decent legs again, they finally returned to Vasselheim and settled into the Slayer’s Take once more. As the others checked in with friends or made their own plans, Percy excused himself to run a few errands. He was grateful they had returned here. His ploy in the battle with Umbrasyl had depleted his black powder supply and this was, unfortunately, the most readily available source to replenish it.

The mad merchant was in slightly better shape than Percy would have expected, as his house still had more walls upright than destroyed and he still had more than three-quarters of his limbs. The conversation was as painful as ever, but thankfully the man was nowhere near sane enough to notice Percy’s state of mind, much less care.

In the end, Percy got far more than he had expected from the errand when the merchant mentioned the one-armed woman buying powder.

Whatever else the man prattled on about faded behind a smoky wall.

Ripley. It couldn’t possibly be anyone else, not with how funny it would be to the universe to have her haunting him once more. Anna Ripley, here, not long ago. Purchasing black powder.

Well.

A feeling almost like hunger stirred in Percy’s core. At his side, the pepperbox, holstered since the night Vax’s name had shown up on it, almost seemed to pulse, beckoning his hand to wrap around it, draw it, feed it.

He briefly contemplated shooting the awful merchant just to shut him up, but restrained himself, knowing that finding another source of black powder in the current climate would be time-consuming and obnoxious. He paid the man, thanked him for the information, and returned to the Slayer’s Take, his mind beating a steady rhythm of _Dr. Ripley…Dr. Ripley…Dr. Ripley…_

He enveloped himself in his work as soon as he dropped the black powder off with his belongings. His mind whirled with designs, terrible smoking monstrosities of fire and metal and fury that he filled pages of his sketchbook with, envisioning the satisfaction that would come from aiming any one of them at that smirking, sadistic face and seeing her finally, for once, truly afraid of him.

At some point, he was stirred from his flurry of creation by the sound of the door to the lodge. He looked up, momentarily surprised to see it was dark out and that Vax was walking in coated in blood as if he had just fought another dragon by himself. Percy listened from a distance as Vex raced to his side, heard the fear in her voice and the resignation in Vax’s. He wasn’t the lip reader Vex was, but he was able to make out enough to realize the man’s state was caused by a visit to the Raven Queen’s temple.

Huh. A little thought trickled through Percy’s mind. The Raven Queen had a seat of power here. And apparently would take audiences. He clamped down on that thought before he defined it any further and turned back to his work, taking a sip of the ale he didn’t remember someone setting beside him.

After he was confident everyone had gone to bed that night or at least retired to their rooms, Percy gathered his belongings, including the pepperbox, and made his way as stealthily as he could out the door.

No one troubled him as he moved quietly through the streets of Vasselheim. This close to midnight, the Quad Roads was still remarkably active with raucous drink and carousing, but the revelers were distracted enough and the streets empty enough that he was unbothered on his journey. It was easy enough for Percy to weave between the buildings, down half-remembered streets, and find his way to the temple at the edge of the Duskmeadow.

To his mild surprise, there were no guards around the building. He still glanced back down the street to see if anyone was watching, but stepped forward with the studied air of one who had the authority to be anywhere he wished and carefully pushed on the door.

Contrary to their typical luck, this door glided open with just a mild creak. He peeked his head in, pleased when nothing immediately triggered a trap or set off an alarm. No one occupied the inside of the temple, still and lifeless as the bodies that surrounded it.

Percy walked in, still cautious. It was dark inside, all obsidian, like a visual negative of Whitestone, but equivalently dour. He felt the odd sensation of being in someone else’s house when they weren’t home, but pushed the hesitance back. He had things to do.

A _thud_ behind him made him jump and he turned, hand reflexively going to his holster. The door now stood closed.

Nice. Clever bit of showmanship to attempt to unnerve him. He could see how this was going to go.

“Hello?” he called. If it was a magic user, they had to be within a certain range. If it was the goddess herself, there was no telling. “Hello?”

There was no answer but his own voice echoing off the walls of the silent room.

“I have information on a threat to your champion.”

He was disappointed, but not surprised, when there was no response. He gave her a moment, then accepted the lack of interest and started heading for the door.

Behind him, there was another slamming noise and a low rumbling. He turned around to see a light appear in the next chamber.

Releasing the door handle, he hurried after it.

The movement lead him into a chamber of bone and bluish glass. His eyes caught a glimpse of feet at the top of one of the stairways leading up to some higher level and he charged after them. He reached the top just in time to see a heavy wood-and-iron door shut as he arrived.

He knocked and the door creaked open slightly under his hand. The room beyond was dark enough his human vision could discern very little about it. A smooth, glossy floor, perhaps some type of domed ceiling above, but that was about it. He tried to get a hint of movement, of the figure he had followed this far, but nothing broke up the empty darkness.

“Hello?” he called again. “Please. An evil creature has declared its intention to harm your champion. Vax’ildan. I don’t know how these games work, but I thought you might have an answer I lack.”

He waited, but got no more reaction than if he had spoken to a mausoleum or headstone.

Irritation stirred in him. “You obviously care little for someone who gave you his life.”

He turned and began to storm out when a whisper brushed his ear from the darkness of the chamber. “Did you come seeking absolution?”

A little shiver went through him, but he hid it. “I have no delusions of absolution. I’m seeking _solutions_.”

“Then come,” the whisper returned, so like and yet unlike Orthax’s. “Let us talk.”

Percy looked back into the room, barely more visible as his eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight filtering in. No figures, no other doorways, no obvious path. “I don’t understand how these things work. Where do you wish me to go?”

“Have faith.”

He snorted, crossing his arms.

“Step in,” the voice continued. “Join me.”

A subtle shift in the faint lighting of the room clarified that some of the shadows formed the edge of a pool. He stepped forward and looked in. The liquid looked real, but not quite like water. He wasn’t sure if it was truly opaque or if the darkness just prevented seeing the bottom. He remembered Vax walking into the Slayer’s Take covered in blood and suddenly realized the source of it.

Grimacing, Percy began removing his coat, then, after a brief glance for onlookers, the remainder of his clothing. Skin could be hidden. Bloody clothes were hard to miss.

As he removed his gunbelt, he hesitated. The thought of leaving his weapons here, out of reach, unsupervised, rankled in his stomach. Not so much in concern for his own defense, but he had no idea who else was in this building. What if someone stole them while he was indisposed? What would Orthax do if he lost the List? What if one of his friends came in looking for him and saw the new name on the barrel?

His hands shook for a moment, but he hardened his resolve. He needed answers and if he had to play a goddess’ games to get them, so be it. She wanted him to have faith? Fine. He would trust his weapons to still be there, unbothered, when he was done.

As he folded and stacked his clothes, he took the pepperbox out of its holster. He wasn’t sure if the shadows truly darkened in the room or if it was just a trick of his poorly-adjusted eyes. Regardless, he wrapped the pistol tightly in his coat. It was most likely moot; Orthax hadn’t shown many limitations to his awareness thus far, but if there was even a chance of Percy doing this without an audience, he intended to try.

His first step into the pool confirmed it was blood. Even icy cold, that particular texture was unmistakable. Why was it always blood? Vampires and gods alike, it always seemed to be about blood. Goosebumps rose on his skin from the cold, but it was no worse than autumn in Whitestone, really. Steeling himself that this was a necessary discomfort in pursuit of answers, he continued stepping forward as the base of the pool sloped until the blood was up to his chin. 

He paused. He knew what was expected, but still his heart pounded a bit, old fear halting his muscles.

“Come,” the voice whispered in his ear. “Come to me with your questions.”

He sighed, forced his hesitations back, and ducked his head under the surface.

It was every bit as horrible as he had thought. He couldn’t see through the opaque red around him. The cold bit into his skin, barely warmed by the prolonged exposure.

“Come,” she called again. “Bring your questions.”

He dove downward. It was deeper than it looked from the outside, but to his surprise, he found the bottom reasonably soon. The floor of the pool was smooth and curved. He felt around, searching blindly for some latch or magical glyph or unseen tunnel entrance. His lungs burned as he traced out what he presumed was the entire floor of the pool, finding the edges of the walls and nothing but smooth, unbroken floor as far as he could feel.

Frustration fumed in his mind. This was some kind of game, some puzzle he didn’t have the background to solve. Coming here had been a fool’s errand. He might as well just go back to the Slayer’s Take. He’d have better luck talking to Vax himself than this damned—

He turned, pushing off from the bottom of the pool and swam upward. And upward. And…upward. Impossible. He had barely swum down twenty feet. He should have reached it by now. His lungs felt like they were going to turn inside out and there was no sense of light or distance or a surface in any direction.

Panic lanced fresh up his spine. He knew he was flailing more than swimming now, a desperate animalistic drive for survival making him claw at the blood around him, not sure if it was actually thickening to cling to him or if it was the hypothermia freezing his muscles. His eyes felt glued shut. Blind. Trapped and blind and drowning. Damn her, she was going to drown him for his trespass in her temple. The others would never even know where he went, unless she decided to tell Vax, to let his fate serve as a lesson to those who might make the same mistakes he had. Killed by the Raven Queen for being too brash and trying to take what wasn’t his. Gods and their damned irony.

His head cracked against the floor of the pool and he yelped involuntarily. In that instant, it was over. The blood filled his lungs and abruptly it wasn’t blood and he was back in the river outside Whitestone, freezing water dragging him downstream, attempting to finish the job the Briarwoods had started. He fought, his body instinctively trying to suck in air but there was nothing, just cold and blood and his body spasming, consciousness going black, and before it faded completely, he reflexively reached for the shadowed spot in the back of his mind, wordlessly, desperately grasping…

And then, suddenly, the cold was gone. The blood was just water, and then air, and his lungs worked, unimpeded. Alive.

Well, presumably.

He was able to open his eyes now and found he was still in darkness, but standing now, surrounded by an unbroken void in all directions.

A small sound met his ears. Footsteps, behind him. It felt like hours since he had heard something other than his own pulse rushing in his ears. He couldn’t discern anything around him, but turned to glance over his shoulder anyway and nearly had a heart attack at seeing the porcelain face staring from immediately behind him.

No body, he realized now as his pulse tried to slow down. Just a silent mask, looking back at him with dispassionate patience. The face of the Raven Queen.

Of course. A goddess of death, requiring people to nearly die before granting an audience. Pretentious harpy.

He expected her to speak, but the mask simply stared with the same amount of acknowledgment as a statue on a grave. He longed for his own mask for a moment, just to make things fair.

Instead, he took a steadying breath, using the moment of collecting himself to cast cautiously to the back of his mind, trying to sense if Orthax was still attached to him here. He didn’t hear any response, but chilled as he was, he couldn’t be sure if the familiar cold spot was there or not.

Drawing himself up, he decided to skip the posturing and get to the point. No telling how long the god would find him intriguing enough to spend her attention on him, or how long until Orthax managed to reach him again, goddess or no.

“Do you know who I am?”

“I do.” The mask didn’t move. The voice sounded inside his head, not necessarily coming from the direction of the mask. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant sensation, but a familiar one.

He swallowed. “Are you aware of…what I brought with me?”

“I am.”

He almost pressed to clarify that she knew he was referring to Orthax, but figured a goddess could likely read his meaning clearly enough.

He drew a deep breath. “I…made a poor choice when I was younger. I wasn’t even certain it was real, but now I am bound in debt to a creature whose intentions are…bloodthirsty at best. Evil more likely. I accept the cost of my mistakes, I do not deny it. But now it threatens more than just myself.”

The mask just continued watching him expectantly.

“I do not expect forgiveness, or to be freed from my debt,” he continued. “But I want to know if there is a way to stop it. To prevent it from doing something terrible to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“It acts through you.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Then you already have the ability to curb its actions.”

He gritted his teeth, stifling his irritation at her blasé response. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough.”

“That is up to you. If you are not asking me to absolve you of its presence, what do you seek from me?”

_I had rather hoped you would offer to anyway, honestly._ “I do not expect salvation. But I do not know if I will be able to control its intentions forever. Please. If there is anything you can do, any aid you can provide to help me keep it at bay. I’m concerned it…is growing stronger.”

“Then so must you.”

Frustration squirmed in his chest. “It threatens your champion.”

The mask didn’t react.

“It made its intentions clear that it considers Vax’ildan an enemy. It wants to kill him. Wants me to kill him.”

“Do you intend to do so?”

“No!” His vehemence surprised himself.

“Then what do you seek from me?”

“I don’t know, I had figured a goddess would have more answers than a mere mortal, but now I wonder if I overestimated you,” he snapped.

It was a mortifyingly stupid reaction, he knew it even in the moment, but the Raven Queen just watched his outburst with an implacable expression.

“From the sound of it, you have more ability to prevent that outcome than I do right now.”

His temper expended and met only with unfeeling disinterest, Percy sagged a bit. His eyes darted to the void around them for a moment, suddenly feeling very small and very far from home.

“I am not a good man,” he said at last.

“No. But you are still capable of good things. You walk a very dangerous path with the potential to cause tragedy for many people, including those you care about. But your fate still rests in the choices you make.”

Percy scrubbed a hand over his face, weariness creeping in fast. “You truly have no intention of helping Vax, do you? After everything he’s giving you?”

“I’ve already helped him, Percival. If it is his fate to die from your demon, that may come to pass. But it is not a decided thing yet. Nor is it my place to decide.”

Percy huffed a small, rueful laugh. “I don’t know why I expected anything else.”

The mask shifted angle slightly, almost seeming to regard him with some hint of…irritation? Sympathy? Or something more like how a cat considers a mouse it wasn’t expecting to catch in its paws?

“Your fate will be determined by your choices, Percival. As will Vax’ildan’s, and many others’. But when you die, I will make sure that your soul is delivered to its earned destination. I can promise you nothing more and nothing less.”

“That’s suitably not comforting.”

“You are not a good man, Percival,” she said again. “But you have the opportunity to be one before you die. Mortals can achieve great things. I did.”

And abruptly the mask seemed to jerk back away from him into the shadows—or perhaps he away from it—and suddenly he was in the pool again, blood choking his throat. But this time when he clawed at the liquid around him his fingers found air and he sputtered to the surface gracelessly, blood draining from his mouth and nose and ears. He scrambled for the edge, half-blind from the blood in his eyes, and dragged himself over the edge, flopping onto the ground on the outside as he coughed and gagged the remaining ichor from his system.

Well. That was nightmarish.

Finally convinced he wasn’t going to actually drown, he took a moment to breathe. He vaguely noted the dark of the room was no longer quite as impenetrable, a hint of moonlight gleaming through some distant window above.

He stumbled back over to his clothing, trying to steady himself and regain some of his dignity with each step. Looking disdainfully at the blood coating him, he drew his sword and used the edge to carefully scrape as much of the vile substance off as he could. He didn’t want any remnant of this encounter to follow him home, but there was no choice for his hair except to scrub it with the back of his shirt. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.

He dressed himself, taking his time and pointedly not looking back toward the pool. He half expected an explosion of smoke when he unwrapped the pepperbox from his coat, but the gun just sat in his hand, deceptively inert and mundane. He returned it to the holster on his belt with more force than necessary and strode his way out of the temple.

The streets were thankfully quiet as he left the Duskmeadow. Even so, he allowed a bit of smoke to waft off himself as he walked, just in case it discouraged any possible revelers or city patrol who might interrupt his journey. He was in no mood for social interaction just now.

He intentionally avoided any conscious thoughts as he walked as well, letting his mind blank more out of weariness than fear. There was nothing good he could think at the moment anyway. Nothing helpful or pleasant, at least.

He was stirred from his bitter non-thoughts as he turned a corner down a small side street. He was no expert on Vasselheim, but he knew the route back to the Slayer’s Take and this was not it. He stopped and turned around— Or rather, he tried to. The thought went out from his brain toward his legs, but they continued walking anyway.

Percy realized with a flutter of fear he was not in control of his body at that moment. He tried again a few times to stop, to turn, to move his hands, but he continued walking down the street with no outward sign of his internal struggle. He was a passenger, helpless to do anything but try not to panic as he was walked further and further from the trail he intended to be on, with no idea where he was being taken.

He passed several decrepit streets of buildings, turned more corners left then right then left again and again until he was uncertain where he was other than far from anywhere he wanted to be. The last turn brought him to a blind alley between ancient, unoccupied buildings. He walked to the end of it and abruptly felt himself shoved to his knees.

He landed hard, reflexively getting his hands forward to catch himself before he slammed face-first into the cobblestones. The smoke, thicker now, curled up around him, creeping down his limbs like coiling restraints. He was still frozen, locked in place as the shadows constricted over him.

**Did you really think she was going to help you?**

_Fuck._ The smoke wrapped tighter around his arms and shoulders, the voice seeming to rumble right by his ear.

Well, being unceremoniously murdered in an alley by Orthax was one way this could end, albeit not one he had anticipated.

“Are you honestly surprised at me for trying?” he retorted. Irritation was preferable to terror.

**Where were the gods when the Briarwoods murdered your family? Or the dragons destroyed Emon? The gods do not care about mortals or their cruelties. The Raven Queen only cared about Vex’ahlia’s death when there was something in it for her. She does not care about you or her followers. I gave you the power to take your revenge. I made you strong. And I will give you the power to destroy the dragons. And all you need to do is continue sending souls to me.**

“Not Vax’s,” Percy managed, grimacing at the biting pressure of the shadows restraining him. Too much like chains, too much like Ripley… “Not Cassandra’s. That’s not the deal.”

**Then get to the other names on the barrels, Percival.** He could practically feel the presence leaning over his shoulder, expected to see the beak in his peripheral vision. **I’m still allowing you to choose. But if you go behind my back again…**

Percy blinked and suddenly the restraining smoke was gone and he was standing in his room at the Slayer’s Take, still in his coat and boots.

**…You do not need to be conscious to be of use.**

The voice faded back into the recesses of his mind and he found his body was fully in his control again. His heart thudded in the silence of the room, the horror of his situation creeping over him. Orthax hadn’t teleported him here. He was vaguely aware of time having passed, that he must have walked the rest of the way here, but he had no conscious memory of it.

Or of anything else that may have transpired during that time.

Turning—and to his relief his body responded immediately—he opened the door and slunk downstairs, peering into the common area. All he saw was a burly man nursing an ale at the bar and an orc sprawled on one of the benches near the fire. From the sound of its snoring, it was alive, if not entirely well. Neither had signs of bullet wounds or reacted to his presence.

He snuck back upstairs and carefully checked each of his friends’ rooms. Other than finding Vax asleep in Keyleth’s room with her and Vex looking like she had fallen asleep sitting up reading, he was relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. No bodies, no bullet holes, no one awake and terrified or angrily searching for him.

Assured he had not been made to kill any of his friends and figuring if he had killed anyone else in the city he would find out in the morning, he made his way back to his room, still deeply unnerved. He changed for sleep and sat for a time on the edge of the bed, turning the barrel of his pepperbox idly in his hand as he stared down at the names unseeingly.

This…this was a troubling new hell.

Some help the Raven Queen was. Had she known what Orthax was truly capable of? If so, had it amused her to deny him her assistance, knowing Orthax would exact his revenge by revealing exactly how much he could take from Percy if he wanted to? Either way, fuck her and fuck all the gods. He was in this on his own and it was time to put naïve delusions of divine intervention away and deal with this problem with his own abilities.

He could do this. Find the balance where he stayed on Orthax’s good side enough to keep his own faculties without doing anything he found intolerable. That was manageable. He didn’t need gods for that. Just human ingenuity.

Feeling marginally less terrified, he tucked the pepperbox under his pillow, laid down, and hoped for a deep, dreamless sleep.

OOO

To Percy’s profound relief, the rest of the night passed uneventfully. He awoke to his gun still tucked beneath his head, with no sign or scent of having been fired. He dressed, shoved his remaining concerns to the back of his mind, and put forth his best effort to seem normal as they all gathered for breakfast in the morning.

Over a hearty meal heavy on wild game and ale, ideas were tossed about regarding their next plan of action. Percy kept his counsel to himself, allowing the conversation to flow around him as he instead tried to subtly gauge Vax’s state of mind. He and Keyleth seemed to be sitting closely together, as he expected, and Vax kept a cautious eye on him whenever he shifted or reached for another piece of bread, which he also expected. Otherwise, he didn’t seem to show any new signs of distrust or irritation. If the Raven Queen had filled him in on Percy’s intrusion, Vax was likewise keeping it to himself.

“What do you think?”

“Hm?” Percy looked up, Vex’s question drawing him out of his assessment.

“Stop back at Whitestone before heading on to the Feywild?” she said, apparently repeating a decision he had missed.

“If that’s what everyone wants to do, certainly.”

Her brow crinkled into a frown as she looked at him and for a moment he wondered if it had been a trick question, something to prove he wasn’t really listening. Then she turned to Vax.

“Brother, you really need to let him out of this promise soon. He’s starting to get boring.”

“Boring is better than dangerous,” Vax retorted.

“Maybe to you. Can’t he be just a little bit dangerous?”

“Once there are no more dragons to worry about, then we can afford to deal with however dangerous Percy really is.” He looked over, making eye contact at last, and for a moment Percy wondered if the Raven Queen really had filled him in after all. But then the conversation continued on and the moment was past.

Returning to Whitestone was still a bit jarring. Activity was beginning to return to a disorientingly normal rhythm after the destruction he had become used to between the Briarwoods’ effects and the ruins of Emon and Westruun. A number of the civilians stopped to watch them pass or offer nods or bows of greeting, but Percy kept his responses to subdued nods of acknowledgment, focusing most of his attention internally.

Being back among their friends from Emon was nearly as off-putting. Gilmore, of course, greeted them warmly, but being reunited with the rest for a working dinner was an awkward affair. He greeted Cassandra a bit formally, grateful for the minimal overt affection they had been raised to show in their family. It made it easier for him to keep a bit of distance and try to ignore the faint tingling sensation in the palm that rested near his gun.

He saw Allura’s eyes trail down to the gun on his hip as well, saw the little crinkle of disapproval or disappointment on her brow, and noted that her demeanor toward him was slightly cooler than to the others. He should be slightly relieved to know he had her watchful gaze keeping an eye on him now as well, in case something happened, but instead it was slightly irritating. He ignored her and focused on listening to the conversation as each side brought the other up to speed on new developments.

He was intrigued to learn the orb was most likely a siphon of power, a conduit between nexus points, though what it was connecting to Whitestone was still unknown. All manner of dark possibilities flickered through his mind, ideas for experiments to test this object that could so effectively block magic, this zone where his more mundane talents might be able to succeed where those typically more powerful failed. Oh, what potential uses may crackle within that portal to realms unknown…

Perhaps even something powerful enough to break this bond with Orthax. Or at least give him an edge in their balance of control.

Regardless, they weren’t solving either that or their dragon problem tonight. Tomorrow, they would continue their quest to gather the Vestiges and hope those would be enough to turn the tables in their favor.

As they left the table to scatter their separate ways, Vex slipped up beside him and whispered, “You still have some blood behind your ear.”

His hand darted to his ear instinctively, a small jolt of fear filling him.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, walking with him at an easy, strolling pace down the hallway. “I don’t think anyone else noticed. Just…if you’re going to go out late, let us know when you get home safe, all right? Don’t sneak around.”

“I wasn’t doing anything dangerous,” he said, even if it was barely true. “It wasn’t something Orthax commanded me to do—”

“Darling, that wasn’t what I meant.” She stopped, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, eyes intense on his. “We still care about you, no matter how odd things are right now. Don’t doubt that just because Vax has his head up his ass about this Orthax thing.”

“He’s right to be worried about Orthax,” Percy said honestly, an extra streak of guilt running through him as he looked over Vex’s face. The sister of the man on his list. The woman he had already killed once.

“Perhaps. But not to the extent he forgets you’re still part of this family. Or that you forget it either.” She gave his cheek a little pat before taking her hand back. “Just keep us in the loop, all right? I don’t want to lose you because of something stupid we could have avoided.”

“Very well. I’ll try.”

“Good. And try to have a _little_ fun, will you? We’re going to the Feywild tomorrow! And hopefully I’ll have a sexy new bow soon!”

He smiled despite himself. “Well, I suppose I should get to work then. You’re going to need ammunition for that new bow.”

Excited craving sparkled in her eyes and she grinned with a flirtatious edge. “All right. I guess I can approve a bit more work before you relax and have fun.”

“Vex’ahlia!”

They glanced over at Vax’s call from down the hallway. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Vex said with a wink as she turned to follow her brother’s summons.

Percy watched her go, vaguely aware of the fond smile still quirking the corner of his mouth. Then he shook off the little haze clouding his thoughts. He had work to do while he had access to a proper workshop for once. No time to waste.

Getting his mind back in order, he headed the other way down the hall toward his forge.

OOO

That night’s sleep was considerably more restful than the night before, as it was preceded by the exhaustion of a satisfying evening’s work and a Greater Restoration session with Pike. It was deep, dreamless, and blessedly lacking in demons.

Until a little after midnight, when there was a whisper of smoke against his threat sense. Followed immediately by a shout of “Western tower! Jenga!” through his earring.

He snapped awake, hand flying to the gun under his pillow even before his eyes took in the figure standing over his bed, barely visible with his lack of darkvision. He felt it, though, as a blade slashed across his chest, the wound searing with the familiar fire of poison. The pain and flash of memory that went with it— _Ripley-burning flesh-no-not again_ —made him flinch backward, sparing him a second slash from the shortsword.

He finished drawing his pepperbox from beneath his pillow, not hesitating as he blasted the assassin back through the door with a snarl of rage. The figure got back up but his second shot hit the side of its face, making it turn and run.

“Intruders!” he yelled, both to his party and to any nearby guards. “Intruders!”

Grabbing his gloves of missile snaring, gunbelt, and black powder pouch, he darted out the door after the assassin. He saw Pike staggering back out her door, naked, bloody, and barely standing, but still aiming radiant energy at another figure in her own room. He paused just long enough to empty the remaining barrels of the pepperbox, blasting the top of the assassin’s head off as it tried to flee out the window.

He heard Pike thank him, but the smoke was filling his mind now and he barely acknowledged her as he reloaded his gun, his attention already tracking back to seek the assassin who had dared invade his own room. In his own castle. In his own city.

The figure had not gone far, apparently, and used their moment of distraction to hurl daggers in their direction. Percy’s hand snapped up, catching the one headed his way and firing back at the figure, dropping it where it leaned around the curve.

He saw Trinket near where the assassin had stood and had a brief streak of fear for Vex, but knew if she was down, Trinket would have been in a blind rage. Instead, the bear just watched him stalk by, ready to assist, but not grief-stricken. The western tower was ahead, but the sounds of battle were actually emanating from ground level now. Making his way after Pike to a hole in the wall, he saw a snarling figure pinning Vax to the ground, with Scanlan standing nearby, bloodied sword in hand.

_No…_

**Mine.**

Percy was vaguely aware of Pike calling up divine magic in front of him, but his arm was already in motion and the bullet hit unerringly into the figure’s feline head. The creature went slack, dropping over Vax’s form before smoldering away into ash.

Vax shoved the disintegrating body off himself, panting and bewildered as he looked in the direction of the shot and saw Percy standing in the hole of the castle wall as the light of Pike’s spell faded out unspent. Their eyes held for a moment, then Percy slowly lowered the gun, nodded to him, and headed back inside the castle to talk with the guards as the others took care of Vax.

By the time Percy had finished speaking with the guards and coordinating with Cassandra to search for any more assassins in the city, the others had healed up Vax and apparently sorted out that the rakshasa impersonated Gilmore to get close, but was vanquished for the time being. The real Gilmore had been secured and even revealed Vax’s armor came equipped with magical wings to help him avoid such falls as he had taken from the tower earlier. They attempted to return to bed and finish the rest of the night properly, though he heard the next morning that Vax had been made righteously sick by a curse the rakshasa left behind until Allura and Pike rid him of it.

It figured that for all the worry he’d had about Orthax, Vax’s own demons proved the greater threat to his life at the moment.

Since the majority of the party was still shaken from the night’s drama, they decided to spend part of the next day in one of Vasselheim’s taverns before heading out to the Feywild. Pike also revealed she wouldn’t be able to join them for the venture, so it became a small farewell party as well. As the ale flowed, Percy spent most of the time watching the others getting increasingly raucous and emotional.

At one point, Vax, perhaps emboldened by a few ales, came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, for finishing that thing off last night.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I know…we have not been close for a while now. But you helped me anyway.”

Percy took a sip of his ale. “Of course. That’s what I’m good for.”

Vax looked at him, clearly unsure how loaded Percy intended that comment to be. “You know, you really make it hard to be sincere with you.”

Percy chuckled. “Yes, I know.”

Vax clapped his shoulder again, then shoved the side of his head. “Just get drunk and stupid with the rest of us. No more demons today.”

“That sounds lovely.” He raised his mug in a little toast as Vax headed off, a bit unsteadily.

He nursed his ale for a time, watching Grog get into an arm-wrestling match with a wiry young farmhand who actually won two times out of three. He wondered briefly about the physics of force and leverage that allowed that to happen as the two treated each other to another round.

As he watched, he heard Pike climb up a stool to sit beside him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He set down his drink. “Sorry to steal your kill last night.”

“Oh no, don’t be sorry. I’m just glad that thing’s dead and didn’t kill Vax.”

“It…will still need to be dealt with one day, but it’s further down the priority list now, thankfully.” There was a lot of that going around.

As if Pike knew where his mind went just then—which he didn’t put past her—she touched his shoulder and said, “I’m sorry I can’t come with you. I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, but Keyleth’s promised to keep Greater Restoration prepared in case you need it.”

Percy grimaced slightly at the idea of Pike talking to Keyleth behind his back about his situation. But that was her job, after all. “Thank you. I hope we don’t.”

She was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with the handle of her mug. He thought perhaps she was done talking, lost in her own mildly-drunken thoughts, but eventually she spoke again.

“Since I won’t be there, I have something for you too.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Mm? All right.”

“When we went to my house, or, well, where I lived with Wilhand…”

“I remember.” He did, somewhat. Westruun was a bit of a blur, but he recalled Pike’s odd little great-grandfather and the house she had grown up in.

“I got something from underneath the bed, and…” She reached into her pocket and took out something she cradled in her hands, as if it was very dear and very important.

“This is something that’s been in my family for a really long time,” she continued, “and I’ve been thinking about it, and I feel like I need to give it to you. So come closer to me real quick.”

He had learned to be wary of whenever any member of this group asked him to lean close while they were drunk, but Pike didn’t seem in the mood to smack someone or give them a wet willy, so he obeyed.

She stood up on the stool, since even with him leaned over it was an awkward angle for her, and gently put a silver necklace over his head with all the solemnity of one giving a blessing.

“You got me jewelry?” he asked, partly to alleviate the intense mood.

“It’s a special pendant that will keep you safe.”

“Physically or spiritually?” he asked, looking down at the crystal on the end that seemed to pulse gently with a faint radiant light.

“Both, hopefully. It’s…It’s basically a stored Revivify spell. In case…Well, if shit gets really bad.”

He cocked his head now, looking at her wryly. “You decided to give the man possessed by a demon something that makes him harder to kill?”

She gripped his arm now, slightly harder than she probably intended, and held his eyes with that intense stare of hers. “I gave you something to make sure you come back to us so we have a chance to finish getting rid of it.”

“Mm.” He looked it over once more. “I can think of a few people in this group who should probably have this more, but thank you. I trust your judgment.”

“Good. Just…don’t take it off.”

“Okay. I will keep it on.”

“And it will keep you safe.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I will try to keep them safe as well,” he nodded toward the group now cheering Grog on for beating the farmhand in a drinking contest instead. “From the Feywild and from myself.”

“All right. And keep yourself safe too, please?”

“If at all possible. Please keep all this safe as well,” he added, gesturing around in reference to Whitestone. And adeptly changing the subject.

“I will.” She still looked at him assessingly one more time, but instead of pressing, she just raised her mug and they toasted everyone’s safety. Then she headed on to rejoin the party.

Percy stayed in his position at the bar, musing over the necklace she had given him. A stored Revivify spell. That…was very interesting.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she had just unknowingly given him the means out of his problem. Was it possible this was the loophole he needed? If he gave it to Vax, could he actually shoot him and get his name off the gun, knowing Vax would revive a moment later? But perhaps it wasn’t the death but the delivery of the soul to Orthax that removed the name from the list. It was a gamble either way, certainly. He would need to do further research and consideration before daring to risk it, but still…Very interesting.

As with rakshasa and possible exorcisms, that was something that would wait for now. They had the Feywild to deal with immediately, and that was likely to be a challenge all its own.

OOO

And it was.

Oh, it was beautiful, absolutely. Percy had read about the Feywild since he was a boy and it was everything he had imagined. The colors, the energy in the air, the slight sense of everything being just a bit _off_. Exhilarating.

Being who they were, though, they didn’t make the best first impression, with Keyleth racing ahead in excitement at the new plant life, angering one plant by picking a flower, and stumbling upon a nymph who instinctively blinded her soon after. Apparently it was the same nymph Grog knew from a previous encounter, though, so they smoothed that over reasonably quickly. And Pike was able to join them briefly as the odd interactions of the planes allowed a narrow window her astral form could slip through for a time, so she got Keyleth back to normal nearly as fast.

As they walked, following the nymph’s directions toward Syngorn’s temporary location, the vibrant colors and peaceful hum of the air began to settle on Percy in a different way. Rather than being enticing, as it had when he arrived, it became more and more of a contrast illuminating for him exactly how much he didn’t fit into this situation. The shadow and smoke that perennially swirled through his mind now didn’t belong in this world of beauty. Nothing was outright rejecting his presence so far, but the stark disparity had him soon hunching in on himself and staying to the back of the group, even quieter than he was required to be.

Perhaps it was because he was ignoring most of the party’s conversation that he caught the sense of something following them. He tried to subtly tune into it without being obvious and was pleased to note Vex had picked up on it too. With her vantage point on the broomstick, she did find the source of it and unceremoniously dumped the spying little satyr at their feet.

The fellow, Garmelie, was irritating and frankly a distasteful artist, as he revealed the drawings he had made of their group as he followed them. But he was an experienced local of the area and could potentially be a useful guide.

As the others negotiated the little creature’s help navigating to Syngorn and the Shademurk Bog, Percy noticed the satyr’s gaze fall on him. He felt a touch of magic on his mind, just faintly, but the shadows swiftly blocked it. Garmelie’s eye twitched subtly with surprise, but he showed no other sign of reaction.

A moment later, Scanlan began encouraging the others to accept the satyr’s deal, sounding a bit oddly passionate in his optimism and cheer.

Ah. That’s what that had been. Some sort of charm to entice them to agree with his requests. Well, the terms Garmelie had set for his assistance—that they steal something from people within Syngorn—sounded like it could cause trouble, but given his demeanor so far it was likely to be more of the variety of fucking with people than grand larceny. Mischief certainly wasn’t outside this group’s usual behaviors, nor outside what would be expected in the Feywild. Should it turn out to be more than that, they could deal with it as they went. Until then, he said nothing, but kept a sharp eye on the satyr as well, lest any of this prove more dangerous than it seemed.

They set up the mansion that evening, allowing Garmelie in with them, though with several exaggerated warnings about what would befall him should he steal from them, a batch of servants assigned exclusively to watching over him, and ultimately locking him into his guest room while he slept. As part of the deal Scanlan had struck, Percy did repair the satyr’s ocarina, which had been crushed during their encounter, after which Percy settled in for a long evening of his own tinkering again.

Some time long after what he assumed should have been actual sunset in this timeless realm, Scanlan came barging into his workshop, looking overtired and offended.

“I think that fucker charmed me.”

“You don’t say,” Percy commented dryly, continuing to work on cleaning residue out of the pan of his gun.

Scanlan narrowed his eyes. “Did you know he did that?”

“No. Suspected, maybe.” Percy set down the gun. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been keeping a sharp eye on him since and, although obnoxious, nothing he’s done so far has been particularly intolerable.”

“How do I know he didn’t charm you too? You could be under his twisted spell right now!”

“He tried.” Percy gestured to the gun beside him. “My preexisting partner didn’t approve.”

Scanlan’s eyes travelled to the gun, then back to Percy, still narrowed. “That’s probably another level of fucked up we ought to deal with, but for right now, I’ll take it. Well, what are we going to do about this situation?! We made a deal!”

Percy shrugged. “Steal from some elven nobles in exchange for safe passage to the Shademurk, get Vex her bow, and shoot the bastard if he betrays us.”

“That’s it? You’re not more worried?”

“From what I’ve read, deals are important in the Feywild, and fairly binding. But as long as we stick to the _letter_ of what he requests, he should be bound to his end of the deal as well.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t a hundred percent trust your experience with deals,” Scanlan said.

Percy huffed a little laugh. “Neither do I. But we’re dealing with the fey here, not demons. They’re more tricksters. Dangerous, certainly, but not as bluntly evil. You’re a bard; keep an eye out for alternate ways to interpret words or situations and we should be able to avoid most perils he could pose.”

Scanlan huffed too. “Maybe. I’m still going to let the others know, make sure they’re aware he’s fucking with us too. I mean, I let him in my _house_! With my stuff!”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not the strangest person you’ve brought back to your place,” Percy said, picking up his tools again.

“That’s not the point! Will you just come on and help me warn the others? I need to get back to my reading.”

“They don’t listen to me,” he reminded Scanlan, picking at the crusted soot in the seams of the barrel’s rotating mechanism.

“Vax doesn’t listen to you. I’m not so sure about the others. Come on! He could be compelling Grog to kill everyone as we speak!”

Percy’s hand tightened slightly on the barrel with Vax’s name as Scanlan darted out the door. He sighed, set the tools down, and holstered the gun. There was absolutely no way he was letting that out of his sight with their current houseguest around. Wiping the worst of the oil off his hands, he headed down the hall toward their friends’ rooms.

He bypassed Keyleth’s, figured Scanlan was probably in with Vax already, and knocked on Vex’s door.

“Vex?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Percy. May I come in a moment?”

“Of course!” There was a slight shuffling, then the door opened and Vex stepped aside to beckon him in. He was mildly surprised to see her still in her armor and travelling clothes, no signs of having gone to bed yet. “What is it?”

He sighed again. “Apparently the little shit put a charm on Scanlan. He felt it wear off a bit ago.” 

She froze. “Before we made the deal with him?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Fuck!” She paced away a short distance. “I thought something was odd but figured Scanlan knew how to talk his way around most people!”

“He still probably does. And honestly I don’t believe it’s asking more of us than to stir up some shit in the city and piss off a few members of the upper classes there, which we were likely going to do already. I figure we also already know to keep a sharp eye on him and take everything he says with some healthy skepticism. All this does is confirm he definitely can’t be trusted.”

“It’s our own stupid fault,” she grumbled. “We knew we weren’t supposed to trust anything here.”

“I know. If it helps, I don’t trust anyone outside our group anyway.”

“Well, that’s some small reassurance.” She crossed her arms. “Did you notice anything odd about his whistle-thing when you were fixing it?”

“No, but then I only would have noticed mechanical things about it, not magical ones.”

“That’s true. Damn it! I hate mind-altering magic!”

“Can’t say I’m a particular fan of it either. Look, Scanlan’s warning the others. We’ll just deal with him tomorrow. If he gives the slightest sign of casting a spell from now on, we can just shoot him.”

“Percy? Change of subject.” She shifted, standing a little straighter and spreading her arms to gesture at herself. “Would you say I look put together? Well off? With this armor?”

He frowned, thrown by the abrupt non-sequitur. “In what sense?”

“Well, you come from money, right?”

He nodded, still puzzled where this was going. “Yes.”

“Right, so do I look like I come from money?”

The question caught him off-guard, perhaps mostly because of the little quiver in her voice that was so unlike her. He stepped back, shoved aside the thoughts of fey and charms and peril, as well as his own pre-existing perception of who Vex was, and focused on honestly assessing her presentation of herself. He looked over her armor—good quality, but well used and lived in—and her clothing—likewise well-made if a bit road-worn, each part carrying her own inherent sense of style amidst its practicality. He took in the whole picture: a capable, dangerous woman, both in terms of battle and her own charm that could rival any fey magic. No, her outfit did not speak of old money or, thankfully, new money in that frivolous, excessive way he was used to seeing around the class of people his family had mingled with. But that wasn’t what gave her away.

It was herself. Despite the air of confidence and deliberate sensuality he had watched her project with every new person they met, there was the underlying doubt. The nervousness. The vulnerability. That little tremble under the edges of the mask that betrayed the insecurities beneath, revealed that the persona was put-on, not emitted from within. No, she did not remind him of the people he had been surrounded by growing up. And thank goodness for that.

But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear right now, with tears brimming in her eyes. For whatever reason, she was letting him watch her don the mask and asking his opinion how it fit. He wasn’t sure he could recall her ever doing that with anyone before, save perhaps her brother. He had a similar sense of intruding on something intimate to how he had felt in the Raven Queen’s temple, but also that this time he was the one positioned to pass judgment over someone feeling very small and mortal.

Drawing a deep breath, he gave a light laugh, making sure to indicate he was breaking the mood, not mocking her. “Honestly, dear, you’re too happy to look like you come from money.”

She laughed as well, chiding him for seeming to deflect with flattery even as she wiped a few errant tears from her eyes. “I don’t believe that.”

“No,” he continued, “it’s a sure sign of it, an abject misery. Believe me, I can speak to it. You look too much like you and you don’t look enough like something you’re supposed to be.” He stepped forward, feeling years of etiquette training and diplomacy roll back into him. “If you feel the urge to deeply bullshit, I’d be happy to help you. It’s not hard.”

“No?” she asked. Damn it, the little hopeful edge in her voice bothered him for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“No. It’s _easy_ to pretend you come from money. You just have to be a bit of a shit and wear what everybody else is wearing.”

He had somewhat expected her to laugh, eyes sparkling with humor as her lips quirked in that wry, amused way they did when the two of them traded catty comments about pompous buffoons during dinners at the Cloudtop District before the Conclave turned their world upside down. But all he got now was a little flash of disappointment that he didn’t actually have some more elaborate secret to appearing wealthy.

“Does this have something to do with that city?” he asked and was rewarded with the way her eyes flicked away from his with a little fake laugh in a very guilty tell. “It does, doesn’t it? Who’s there?”

She tried a casual tone, but it was a lost cause. The mask was well and truly offset now. “Well, you know…everyone.” She fiddled with one of the many rings on her fingers, and her voice broke now as completely as the mask did. “We were judged, growing up. And I don’t look forward to seeing that again.”

Fuck. Percy rubbed at his jaw, finding his own gaze lowering now, though out of respect, a nearly voyeuristic guilt. Somehow, for all their time getting to know each other, seeing Vex in tears derailed his flow of reassurances as if they were empty platitudes in the face of her sincerity.

He blew out a breath, finding himself at a loss for what to offer. “Well.”

He paused, genuinely trying to figure out the words she needed. Apparently, it went on a bit too long as Vex—perceptive, ever-deflecting Vex—touched his arm and pulled together the fragments of the mask like a paramour pulling the covers up over their body in sudden self-consciousness. “It’s not important.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Percy managed, pulling his mind together. It was remarkable, there as the shock fell away, the little ember of bristling anger he found beneath it at the idea that anyone could have dared to dig their poisonous hooks into Vex’s core such that this many years and accomplishments later the toxins still plagued her mind. He felt the little curl of smoke creep through his chest unbidden, but kept it from his face.

“Dear,” he said instead, setting aside anger and pity for the genuine assessment she had asked of him. “I think that if you’re worried about them knowing whether or not you’ve made your money and made your fortune—I don’t think that’s going to be the thing to earn their respect. I think you’re better off, A: with the company that you keep, and B: with the fact that you’re probably just better than most of them.”

Now he got the more genuine laugh he had been hoping for, even if it was breaking through lingering tears.

Emboldened, he looked up, daring to catch her eyes. “I’ve known a lot of people with money,” he said sincerely, “and they are definitely not worth you.”

Her cheeks flushed as she laughed again, and very suddenly he knew that his words were absolute truth. There wasn’t a monarch or goddess in the world that could match the woman standing before him then, wiping the tears of self-consciousness from her face as she maybe, just possibly, took his compliments to heart.

And the ember in his own chest burned hotter, with a deep ferocity that mingled with the smoke and shadows already woven through his nerves. Well.

Intimidated by the tension in the room, Percy pushed that intensity back beneath layers of ingrained wit and dry humor. “And besides, if any of the people who judged you try to make you feel inferior now, I could always just shoot them.”

“Percy!” she gasped, but there was more amusement in her voice than actual horror.

“Just an option. I know my gun’s a bit crowded at the moment, but maybe I could start another one for assholes like them. The Waiting List, perhaps?”

She laughed again, smacking his arm with the teasing energy he was much more accustomed to seeing from her. “How about we consider that a back-up plan, hm?”

“As you like. Just know the offer stands. Anyone treats you with disrespect or tries to make you feel less, just say the word.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

“You’re welcome. I know it doesn’t really help.”

“Will you stay at my side when we’re there?”

“Yes. And the outfit works. Don’t change it. Keep the hat.”

She chuckled again, sounding much more at ease now. “All right. Good night.”

“Good night. Sleep well.”

“We’ll sort out this charmed mess in the morning.”

Ah yes. He’d nearly forgotten. “Yes. It’ll work out fine.”

She saw him out and he headed back to his own bedroom, suspecting Scanlan had finished alerting the rest in the time he had taken to have that conversation.

He had planned to get more work done that night, but found his mind wasn’t quite in the right space for that. Instead, it was awhirl with plots and ideas for ways to deal with pompous elves, from petty to sadistic. He did scribble a few of these terrible thoughts in his sketchbook, as well as a few more promising ones, before settling in for a surprisingly satisfying night’s rest, only slightly laced with smoke.

OOO

Morning brought breakfast, a brief intimidation of the satyr over his charm spell, and the addition of a very disturbing new ‘family portrait’ to the mansion. With Garmelie pouting over his treatment, the rest were free to enjoy their meal without much disruption, though when Percy glanced over now and then, he saw the satyr sketching away in his book and pretending not to be looking whenever Percy caught him.

As the others went their own way to gather their belongings for the day, Percy lingered behind, using the space to clean and check his weapons for the day. Yes, the workshop would have been a more ideal place, but a little show of arms never hurt when untrustworthy guests were visiting.

Garmelie, apparently finished with his sulk, hopped up and leaned over the table opposite him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“‘Much’ is a relative term,” Percy replied, not looking up from his work.

“You see plenty, though. Not bad for someone who needs glasses. If you really need them.”

“Do you have a point or are you just trying to prevent me from getting to the tasks _you_ want us to complete?”

The satyr leaned in further, examining Percy in a way that made the hair on his neck start to stand up, before proceeding to poke him in the nose. As Percy slapped at his hand, Garmelie leaned back grinning. “You could have told your friends about my little spells yesterday. But you didn’t.”

“What you used them for didn’t directly endanger anyone in our group. We were likely to work with you even if you hadn’t charmed Scanlan. But make no mistake, I am watching.” He spun the barrels on his pepperbox, checking the smooth movement of the apparatus. “And I assure you, if you had tried anything truly unacceptable…I would have addressed it.”

Garmelie looked at his gun with more amusement than the usual fear or confusion it typically evoked. “That’s a good instinct to hold onto in the Feywild. You’ll need it if you’re planning to go to the Shademurk.” The satyr flipped open his book and tore a page out, handing it to Percy. “Very few things here are exactly what they appear.”

He hopped off the chair and scurried back over toward the front door, his bevy of guards still flanking him the entire way.

Percy looked at the piece of paper shoved at him. It was a caricature of himself, of course, but this time with a dark, beaked figure doing a very crude sexual act to him while he did an equally sexual act with a gun. Snarling, he crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace, then finished tidying up his guns and headed upstairs to get the rest of his belongings.

OOO

It was becoming significantly easier to obey Vax’s edict on not making decisions for the party. Certainly there were times Percy nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking up, but he was learning how to let moments go. The trick, he found, was refining your priorities. He could focus on killing the dragons, not killing Cassandra and Vax, and making some of the people who scarred Vex pay. The rest was peripheral, and the more he detached from any situation not relevant to those three goals, the simpler his life became. No wonder Grog was so content all the time.

And so he allowed the others to worry about Garmelie’s demands in return for his help. And about speaking with the guards of Syngorn, and arranging where they would stay while in the city. He simply walked properly behind the twins, guns holstered but visible on his person, and when anyone gave them too much of an issue, he allowed a just a bit of black smoke to waft around him as he smiled back at them.

One moment, however, fell perfectly in line with his new priorities and after watching the twins’ father reveal exactly why they felt so rejected and scorned by their elven kin, it was blissfully satisfying to finally speak up and bestow Vex’s new title straight to her father’s face. He was aware of Vax’s warning twitch as Percy spoke, but was far more interested in the awestruck expression on Vex’s face and taken aback look on Syldor’s. It wasn’t the blood he craved in the darker side of his mind, but it would do quite nicely for now.

Her kiss afterward was an even nicer surprise, and drew an even darker look from her brother.

Later, after their meeting with the warden and successful heist of her hat at Garmelie’s insistence, they had returned to their quarters at the inn booked for them and Vax stepped over while their guards were preoccupied with errands for the rest of the group.

“Could we have a word, Percival?”

“Of course.”

He was a little surprised when Vax didn’t simply step away from the others but actually led him into one of the empty adjoining rooms they had been granted. He closed the door behind them and Percy stood in the middle of the room expectantly, the atmosphere tense.

Vax took a moment, rubbing his chin as he stood—not far from the doorway, Percy noted. 

“I won’t make this long; I don’t want to give the others reason for alarm or suspicion. I just need to know one thing, and I want the honest truth from you.”

“Yes?” Percy asked, cocking his head curiously.

Vax looked him straight in the eye. “Why did you title my sister?”

Ah. He knew on some level this was coming. “She’s a good woman. Neither she, nor you, deserved the treatment you were given here.”

“You could just tell our father to fuck off like we did. Why make her a baroness?”

Percy paused. Blowing out a deep breath, he considered his words for both clarity and honesty. “In short, she thought she was missing something that—and I use this term loosely—ordinary people… We have a magic we use, to convince people that we deserve the things we get, those of us who were born this way. It was treating her unfairly and limiting her ability to see her world for what it was worth, and it was a simple and easy fix.”

He glanced toward the other room where he suspected Vex was still reveling in her new status by flaunting it with the guards. “She is going to wake up one morning—not yet, but soon—and realize that money will not make her happy, and that trying to please that awful father will not make her happy. The first step in that is realizing that he’s weak, and there’s no better way to do that than being better titled than your parents.”

Vax was frowning at him as he looked back, his scowl, if anything, deeper than before. “I don’t agree with that line of thinking.”

“I know,” Percy nodded. “But you are not her. And I’m not saying it’s the truth, but it is what I believe is in her heart. I think perhaps that might lift.”

Vax grunted, not sounding convinced. “And that’s the _only_ reason you titled her?”

Now Percy frowned. “What other reason would I have?”

Vax stepped forward slightly. “You tell me, Percival.”

Percy felt the twitch of his hand, had to clench his jaw to keep focused. In this close quarters, with the air this tense, he was very aware how long it had been since he had gotten a name off his gun. One-upping the twins’ father had been immensely satisfying for Percy, but meant nothing to Orthax. Having Vax this close and feeling this irritated had his hand tingling to reach for the holster.

“What do you expect me to say?” he snapped, turning to stroll around the room to break the proximity. “That I’m binding her to Whitestone so she can serve in my dark cult to Vecna?” He laughed with a bit more of a mocking edge than he had intended.

Vax, for his part, just watched him, not rising to the bait. “You know, sometimes it worries me I won’t be able to tell when you’re no longer yourself.”

Percy sighed, leaning against a bedpost as far from Vax as he could reasonably be in the room without making a point of it. “I worry that as well.”

Vax continued watching him for a moment. “You know I don’t trust you.”

“No,” Percy agreed.

“And my penchant for forgiveness with my sister’s welfare is razor thin.”

“As it should be.”

He exhaled slowly, some amount of the tension lessening slightly from his body. “So I hope for her sake that your reasons for giving her that title were well-intentioned. Because I think you know what it means to her, and how much it would destroy her to be betrayed.”

“I will never hurt her,” Percy swore, then looked intently at Vax. “I will never hurt anyone in our family intentionally, especially not you, any more than I already have.”

“I will make sure of that.”

“Good. I’m counting on you to recognize if I am ever no longer in control of myself, and to do what is necessary to keep the others safe. Never take your eyes off me. Never trust me. And that is the best friend that you can be.”

Vax swallowed, working his jaw, but nodded at him. “I can do that. And thank you. For Vex.”

“You, and she, are most welcome.”

Vax huffed a breath and turned back to the door. “Better get back to work. We have to figure out how to steal a piece of a bloody threshold crest before we leave town.”

An idea about that ran through Percy’s head, but he let it pass. He was not making decisions for the group. They could figure it out for themselves.

OOO

The remainder of their time in the Feywild did help take some of the edge off for Percy. The heist to steal a bit of threshold crest material was rather thrilling, actually, and managed to be executed without getting themselves arrested or destroying the city’s means of returning to the material plane, so all told, a grand success.

The journey to the Shademurk presented a number of bouts of combat, including with werewolves, pixies, a giant crocodile creature, and—strangest of all—a field of grass. But they made it through fey traps, past hags, and ultimately to the rotting tree that housed the Vestige they sought and the corrupted creature guarding it.

Saundor was somehow even worse than they had anticipated. A withered elven being woven into the essence of the tree itself? Sure. But nothing had warned them how he would target Vex and prey on the very core of her insecurities as if it had overheard her conversation with Percy previously. It was all Percy could do to keep himself restrained as the tree-monster oozed its poisonous words into Vex’s mind, his hand shaking on the stock of his gun. But this was something she had to overcome herself and she didn’t disappoint. And with her lead they were lunging into battle again and Percy finally got to continue his goal of making those who wronged Vex learn the error of their ways.

With the creature destroyed, Vex was able to claim the ancient bow. They were met by Garmelie as they returned, who revealed himself to be more than he had appeared as well. The Archfey expressed his amusement at their adventure and invited them to visit again. He gave Percy a particular knowing look, glancing just over Percy’s shoulder as well before disappearing a last time. And on that unsettling note, they made their return home.

Planeshifting back to Whitestone was just as disorienting as their departure had been. Briefly he felt a flicker of confusion in his mind, reality threatening to bend for a moment, but the smoke wove through, smoothing it out again. Grog, however, apparently felt the effects of the transition and actually forgot their entire trip to the Feywild. But then, that didn’t change much in terms of normal interactions with the Goliath so no one was too particularly worried.

Jarrett was a welcome sight, as was the illusory shield he pointed out, now in place covering the city. Gilmore and Allura had apparently been true to their word and Percy was glad they had decided to bring everyone here.

They met with the council at the castle to catch everyone up to speed, including, to their surprise, Seeker Assum freshly arrived from Emon with the scars to show for it.

As the others were greeting the spymaster, Cassandra got up from her chair and, to Percy’s surprise, actually embraced him. “My brother.”

He tensed in her arms, but not just from the unexpected physical affection. He had done his share of damage in the Feywild, but the tingling in his hand reminded him firmly he was still weeks without making progress toward a name on the gun despite Orthax’s prodding.

He politely extricated himself, standing a bit more formally and redirected her attention to Vex’s new Vestige and the title he had granted her. Cassandra looked a bit unhappy at his aloofness, but it was quickly replaced with confusion as she read the papers he had written regarding Vex’ahlia’s ladyship.

Straightening, she looked back over Vox Machina. “I’m glad you’re all safe, and apparently named,” she added, nodding to Vex in a polite but even more reserved way than usual. “Welcome to Whitestone, Lady Vex’ahlia.”

Vex nodded back. “Thank you.”

Cassandra folded the papers. “I’ll have this put in the books immediately.” She leveled Percy with a very pointed look. “I will request more information soon.”

“I’ll…explain when we have a more quiet moment, yes.”

She was still looking him over, her expression unreadable, but resumed her place at the table and continued the meeting.

Assum’s description of the state of Emon was harrowing, but not unexpected given what they knew of Thordak. A vain and literally mad tyrant remaking the city in his own volcanic image. That…was definitely going to take a great deal more preparation and alliances before they were capable of making a dent in his forces. Still, Percy found his fingers trailing up and down the barrels of the pepperbox beneath the table, something near hunger creeping through him at the thought of finishing off that creature. He wondered if the size of the prey affected how long it would keep Orthax satisfied and off his back.

But then, it hadn’t even taken a few hours after the black dragon’s death before Vax’s name appeared on the barrel, so he suspected downtime wasn’t factored into this bargain.

The results of Gilmore’s efforts to scry on the white dragon were even more troubling. Evidence revealed the beast made its territory on the ruins of a completely destroyed Draconia. That settled heavily in Percy’s stomach, not just for their own personal ties to the city. If one dragon could bring about the downfall of a site of such power and magical heritage as Draconia, what chance did a tiny principality in the mountains stand, Vestiges or no?

As if the world heard his concerns and decided they sounded like fun, the meeting was suddenly interrupted by guards barging in, terror in their faces. Followed by the type of unmistakable piercing roar that was now forever etched in Percy’s mind.

A dragon had found Whitestone.

“Gilmore?” Vex asked, voice a bit faint. “Does the screen keep us hidden?”

Percy’s nerves only got worse when he saw the sorcerer looked just as pale as the rest of them. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

The adrenaline began turning into motion, people heading out of the castle to see the full situation.

“We need to get all of the citizens underground immediately,” Keyleth snapped to Cassandra.

“We can’t fit everybody,” Percy responded absently, mind racing through options.

“We can certainly try,” Cassandra said anyway, and began giving orders to the guards to put that into action.

Percy continued following the others out the front of the castle. There, above the view of the city he had grown up with since infancy, he could now make out the barely visible blue shimmer of the magical dome extending just to the edges of their very fragile pocket of civilization. Not a shield, he reminded himself, just an illusion; the skin of a bubble between everything he cared about and monsters bent on their annihilation, now just visible heading their way.

“I’m going to do a Skywrite over the city,” Keyleth said, starting to raise her hand.

“Wait! Skywrite?” Vex yelped.

“They already know we’re here!”

“No, they don’t! They don’t necessarily!”

“It’s just making pictures in the clouds right above the city. It’s fine,” Keyleth insisted.

“Maybe not,” Scanlan pointed out. Gods, they must be in desperate straits if Scanlan was arguing for caution.

“I wouldn’t Skywrite anything right now, Keyleth,” Vex soothed. “That screen could keep us hidden. He could be searching for us right now.”

“And what about the citizens?” Keyleth demanded.

“We’ll find another way to alert them,” Scanlan offered.

“Do it by hand? We might not have that much time.”

The dark forms were now close enough to make out several dozen smaller flying creatures, but Percy’s attention was focused on the larger one at the front. _Come on, you bastard. Which one are you?_

And as the sun glinted between the clouds, he saw the glimmer of white on the massive beast’s hide.

Vorugal.

“They’re coming this way!” Keyleth was still protesting.

“Hold,” he said quietly but firmly. The tingling was creeping up his forearm now, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate. One thing at a time.

The dragon and its cluster of what had to be wyverns began a coasting path toward the outside of the city, skimming toward the edge of town.

“It’s Thordak’s army,” Keyleth pressed. “Assum said himself we’re eastward. We’re directly in its path.”

“Hold,” Percy repeated.

“Dragons have truesight! They already know we’re here.”

“Maybe they can’t get through this,” Scanlan said hopefully.

But Keyleth would not be reassured. “Any second we wait longer, more people could die!”

“Send out the guards,” Vex said. Bless her, she was stepping into her role as a baroness already.

Around them, guards were already on their way toward the city. Below, citizens were beginning to panic, commotion heading into the streets. And above, the dragons raced even closer.

Soon. He could have the white one, another name off his list. Another dragon gone.

“Percy…” Keyleth pressed, running right beside him.

The dragon wheeled in the air and he got a true sense of the size of the creature in proportion to his city. No. They weren’t ready yet. A stand against a dragon here was suicide, and would take Whitestone with them. As much as the smoke was burning in his chest, he was still a de Rolo.

“Pick them up,” he said of the civilians they passed, weeping in fear. “Keep running until the moment they can’t.”

“They know we’re here!” Vax joined the argument. “This is not a coincidence. They’re not flying by. They know we’re here. They know.”

Damn it, he didn’t need an extra voice in his head now. The dragon above, Vax close—too close—his arm buzzing with the urge to kill. He was aware his hand was on the gun, strongly suspected smoke was roiling off of him by now.

**Choose, Percival.**

“Percy!” Keyleth warned, hand already rising toward the sky.

“Wait!” He spun around on the road, throwing himself in front of her, his own hand up but directed toward her, and poured every ounce of will he had behind his command. He envisioned his words getting through to her, stopping this foolhardy fixation and just listening to him, hearing him.

Behind him, he heard Vex and Vax arguing, but he tuned them out, focusing on Keyleth. And he _made_ her listen.

“This is my home. _Wait_.”

She blinked for a second, but then he saw her eyes soften. She lowered her hand, the tension easing from her muscles.

“Okay. What would you like me to do?”

A bit of relief flooded through him. He exhaled sharply, steadied his mind. “Keep moving. Spread out. Keep moving. Find a position.”

An idea struck. “Go to that house where we made the tunnel under the Sun Tree. Take everyone there. Keyleth, start making that cavern larger. We send everyone there, we keep them silent.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I’m on it.”

He saw Vax starting to say something to him and cut him off sharply. “Do you want to fight or do you want to maybe save this bloody city?!”

Another roar echoed from overhead as the dragon and wyverns, truly overhead at last, soared over the western side of the city, toward the castle. People screamed in fear in the city below. Percy felt like his muscles might rip themselves in half with the effort it took to resist drawing his guns and opening fire. But he stayed, one hand up to forestall action, his eyes following the dragon every second of its flight across the city, over the castle…

And past the castle.

And further on until the entire group landed on a mountain peak outside the city. And stayed.

Percy dared to breathe again, his heart still pounding, smoke still swirling.

“They don’t see us,” Vex confirmed. “But they know we’re nearby.”

“Go to the tunnels,” he told Keyleth, not taking his eyes off the dragon. “The rest of you, alert everyone you see. Tell them to get underground. Tell them to be silent.”

He heard the others scatter to their duties, Vex on her broom, the rest heading into the streets. He didn’t move. He knew he should be helping, should be gathering everyone he could, directing things, leading, but his mind was filled with smoke and blood and it was all he could do simply to keep from charging in the direction of the dragon and unloading his entire stock of ammunition into it.

He stood, between his city and his castle, smoke billowing in the wind, keeping his eyes on the dragon lest it lay eyes on them, guns drawn just in case.

Finally, with a last roar, Vorugal and the wyverns took off, did one final swoop of the valley, and headed southeast, soon disappearing into the distance.

Percy sagged, letting himself drop down to his knees, utterly exhausted. His head pounded. Every muscle ached. The smoke trailed away. But the darkness in the back of his mind had a frustrated, displeased sense to it.

The others soon came to join him, the people of Whitestone gradually coming back out of hiding again. He pushed himself back to his feet as the rest approached, Gilmore staggering his way down from the castle looking as drained as Percy felt.

“Looks like the spell worked,” Grog nodded approvingly.

The twins agreed, praising Gilmore. Percy wanted to thank him as well for his efforts saving Whitestone, but couldn’t ignore the way Keyleth was looking at him.

“Did you use Friends on me?” she asked abruptly.

Everyone else went quiet, the brief air of relief tightening again. He was very aware of Vax behind him.

“It wasn’t my first choice. But we didn’t have time,” he said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Did you cast it or did Orthax?” she demanded.

He huffed a laugh. The pounding was well and truly behind his eyes now. “If Orthax had cast it he would have made you do something terrible. I just made you do something helpful.”

“I was _trying_ to be helpful already.”

“By drawing the dragon’s attention _right_ to the place we were trying to hide?!” he snapped.

“Percy…” Vex said softly.

“I was just trying to save your people,” Keyleth retorted.

“Why don’t you worry about your own bloody people? You’ve already lost a quarter of them.”

“Percy!” Vex gasped.

Vax was in front of him now, between him and Keyleth, his face a ferocious snarl. “Percival! Go to Pike. _Now_.”

“I—”

“Now!”

Percy felt his hand go to his gun, saw Vax’s already on his dagger. For a moment images flashed through his mind of finishing this and finally shutting up the smoke in his head. But he saw Vex’s face over her twin’s shoulder, pain in her eyes. Saw the stricken look on Keyleth’s face. Saw Gilmore— _Gilmore_ —looking at him with baffled shock and fear. And he forced himself to stand down.

“Fine,” he growled, stepping away from Vax and starting toward the path into the city. “I have to check on _my_ people anyway.”

“Percy.”

He paused momentarily at Keyleth’s voice behind him.

“If you wanted me to listen to you as a friend, you didn’t need magic for it.”

He felt the little lance where that landed in his chest, but shook it off and kept going. He had things to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Briarwood-level violence, gun violence (It's Glintshore, use caution if any of that affects you)

Percy did feel better after receiving a Greater Restoration from Pike. He hadn’t realized exactly how much the tension had built up during their time in the Feywild until she took away the worst edge of it.

As they rejoined the rest of the group, now at a tavern with Gilmore and Assum, Percy felt a little jab of shame. He met eyes with Keyleth briefly, but just as quickly looked away. He figured he would have to make some sort of apology to her soon, but the atmosphere wasn’t right just then. The group was already making plans for the next stage of their crusade and the moment for it just never seemed to happen that evening. There would be time eventually.

When they retired for the night, Vax went with Keyleth, giving Percy a sharp look as they went their own way. Percy felt a little stir of irritation, but went to his workshop and kept busy making ammunition until he finally fell into a dreamless sleep at his workbench.

The next day they made their way to ruins of Draconia. Percy was getting used to seeing bastions of civilization blasphemed by forces of evil by now, but this one still rankled deep in his gut. He had never been to the place, but from Tiberius’ descriptions, it was a realm of magic and power and knowledge, and to see that laid to waste by the brutality of dragons for no reason other than because they could… It offended him. Pure, stupid waste.

It also didn’t help that every new bit of evidence they encountered just solidified his suspicion their friend was already dead. Finding Lockheed alone, seeing the lack of resistance forces around the city’s remains, the only living dragonborn they encountered scurrying in the shadows in the service of the beast… No, Tiberius was long gone one way or another. Another loss he would have to emotionally process later.

He didn’t mention this to the rest of the group, instead falling into his role as silent guard as they negotiated an alliance with the Ravinite dragonborn and were allowed to examine the dragon’s lair while it made its way back from Tal’Dorei. He did his best to contribute to the strategizing and observations, but his mind was not as clear as he would have liked. Despite Pike’s Greater Restoration the night before, Percy felt the tingling in his hand again, the feeling like gnawing hunger in his gut. They were close, so close. The white dragon, the same one that threatened Whitestone only yesterday, would be theirs soon. _His_ soon.

But not yet. As much as he could feel the frustration in the shadows of his mind, he knew they were no match for this dragon yet, especially if its destruction ignited a concentrated conflict with the green and the red as well. They were not ready for three ancient dragons. Not without a few more Vestiges.

So a plan was made: they would come back with a beast to tire out the white dragon, and the Vestiges clustered near Marquet.

Which meant delaying the next name on his list further, but no better option. Hopefully Orthax would accept this was needed and not start taking his own initiative in the meantime.

As they prepared to leave, Percy cast another glance around at the array of skewered and frozen dragonborn bodies near the lair. He thought he caught a glimpse of a red-scaled one in robes similar enough they _could_ have been Tiberius, but the others were already heading out and he was in no position to negotiate anyway. The bodies weren’t going anywhere. And if he was right, Tiberius wasn’t suffering or in danger. The living still were. There would be time for mourning and remembrances later.

He made his way down the icy battlefield and followed Vox Machina out of the wreckage.

OOO

Looking back, Percy wished he could have enjoyed the trip to Marquet. An entire new continent he had never been to before, culturally and climatically different from anywhere he knew. They met Gilmore’s charming parents, shopped at a market filled with tantalizing foods and crafts, and even fit in time for a trip to a casino.

And Scanlan was scammed into buying cooking spice under the belief it was drugs. Oh, Percy wished he had been more conscious to fully savor that whole episode.

Unfortunately, given everything else going on, his mind wasn’t especially in the moment at that point. Part of it was the tension thickening between him and the rest of Vox Machina. Since his outburst at Keyleth after the dragon flyover, he knew Vax was watching him even closer. It didn’t escape his notice that whenever alcohol was passed around, Vax made sure it bypassed Percy. When Vex coaxed him to try out some of the casino’s games with her, Vax was near his other shoulder, a perpetual lurking shadow. There wasn’t a time in the trip he couldn’t feel the other man’s eyes gauging his actions, sizing up his behavior, hovering on the balls of his feet, ready to act at the first inkling of an improper move.

And equally unfortunately, Percy was grateful for it. Because as much as Vax was a constant presence in his peripheral vision, Orthax was like an even more persistent weight across his shoulders. He could feel the demon’s impatience itching as if it were under his own skin, the cold smoke curling beneath every thought, not steering or possessing him, but simply…reminding him. Percy had tried to convey to the presence that this little side trip for the Vestiges was a necessary delay to assure their eventual victory against the dragons they both wanted dead, but it did little to alleviate the pressure and Percy found himself increasingly restless as the days went on. He knew his hands fidgeted constantly now, if not with the barrel of his pepperbox, then tapping on tables or rolling a bullet idly between his fingers. He was sure Vex had noticed it—they probably all had—but no one called him out on it.

His cough was another matter. The irritation had returned these past few days, and though he tried to play it off as a result of the abrupt transition to this arid land after being acclimated to the frozen north, but he knew the others weren’t buying it. With the taste of smoke in his throat, he had no doubts of its origins either.

And so, instead of enjoying a temporary reprieve from the horrors their lives had been filled with recently, he wound up spending the whole trip attempting to stay focused on the present as his mind continuously drifted back to the ravine and the ruins of Draconia, dreaming up strategies, possibilities, means of attack.

And hoping Orthax wouldn’t tire of waiting and choose a more immediate target after all.

The test in J’mon Sa Ord’s chamber should have been a welcome relief, a bit of combat to blow off some of the steam building up in his muscles. Instead, it only stoked his irritation more as his bullets bounced off the automaton’s metal shell, useless for all intents and purposes. By the time the fight was over, he was frustrated and moody and it was all he could do to stay the instinctive twitch of his hand when the leader revealed their true draconic form. If the brass dragon sensed his movement, or the nature of what he carried with him, they made no mention of it, and it thankfully did not disrupt the fruitful conclusion of their meeting.

So given all of this, it was practically a relief when they learned who had gotten to Cabal’s Ruin before they had.

Relief may have been a kind word. Resignation to the point of dissociation, perhaps, might have captured the moment more. Not shock. No, he couldn’t be shocked by anything Ripley did at this point. It was all simply a matter of time since he had allowed her escape from Whitestone. Any terrible thing he could come up with in the depths of his mind was no doubt already being enacted by her wherever she had been these past months. This was merely the outcomes of his own choices catching up to him, as he had known they would sooner or later. At most, he could muster a bit of surprise it had found him this quickly and in this remote corner of the world.

That wasn’t to say he was emotionless at this revelation. Oh no, the chill in his chest had turned to an icy burn at this point, a static of anger—no, _fury_ —building in his mind, threatening to drown out the conversations of the others happening around him. Staring down at the body of the mercenary on the floor, marked with fatal wounds that previously only _he_ had had the power to create…infuriated him. _His_ weapons, _his_ quarry, _his_ goal. She had coopted all of them. He knew she thought like he did, but this was uncanny beyond the level of mere similar minds. _How_ had she gotten here before them? Even known this item and place existed?

“Percy?” Keyleth’s voice broke through his haze. “Can I see the gun?”

His hand instinctively tightened on it as he pulled a bit away from her, snapping back to awareness. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want your precious gun. The one you got from Ripley.”

“Oh. Fine.” He relaxed slightly, unholstering Retort and handing it to her. As she started examining it, magic tracing across the carvings and crystals in its stock, realization dawned on him and the cold anger took on a new sharp edge.

That bitch…

“Kiki?” Vex asked, also watching.

“Yep,” Keyleth concluded, fingers hovering over the piece of whitestone beneath the barrels on the gun. “It’s enchanted. I think she’s been spying on us.”

The confirmation churned a new sick dread in Percy’s stomach. No, it wasn’t his main weapon, but it had been there the whole time, mostly ignored in favor of his primary pepperbox and so unnoticed as it lurked. Listened. Mocked him.

“Are you kidding me?” Vex groaned as Vax stepped over and examined the gun too.

“So both Percy’s guns are connected to evil creatures?” Scanlan said. “I’m going to go ahead and just put it out there: Thordak’s been watching us through Bad News too. It’s the whole set.”

“No he’s not,” Percy muttered, but was barely paying attention to the conversation.

Ripley had been listening. All this time, any moment he was near his guns, she could have been listening, watching, learning. Conceptually, it didn’t surprise him really. But it _rankled_ him.

He heard Keyleth ask if she could hold onto the gun to aid in scrying on Ripley and he thought he responded, was pretty sure he gestured for her to keep it, but his mind wasn’t really functioning in a human way anymore. The anger, the indignity, the _hunger_. She had been here. She might still be in the city, might be close enough to go after. He started shoving papers aside, then furniture. There had to be a sign here, a hint, some indicator that would let him hunt her down, find her, kill. Soon. _Soon._

He was only vaguely aware he was ransacking the room rather than searching it when he felt a hand on his arm. He whipped toward the touch, catching his instinctive strike as soon as he saw the source was Vex.

Unfazed by his reaction, she gripped his face in her hands, forcing him to focus on her. “Percival. We’ll get her. I promise, we’ll find her and we’ll help you take her down. But you have to do this as yourself. Don’t become what you were with the Briarwoods again.”

He blinked, puzzled by why she brought that up. As his tunnel vision eased back to normal, he realized the room was now partially filled with smoke. Ah.

More aware of everyone watching him warily, Percy took a deep, determined breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself back to a calmer state of mind.

“Yes. You’re right,” he managed, bringing his hand up to pat Vex’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“That one was understandable,” Vax allowed, barely arm’s reach away. “But don’t lean into it, yeah?”

“We’ll get her,” Vex promised again, patting his cheek once before letting go of his face and stepping back.

Percy huffed out a breath. The itch was still there, as was the anger, but this was not getting him closer to his target. And he needed the others to find her. “I know. We…We should head out. There’s nothing else we can do here but attract more trouble.”

“Agreed,” Vax nodded. “Scanlan? That tunnel lead out?”

Percy hadn’t even noticed the gnome had located a secret passageway in the basement with them, but apparently it did lead back to the street without requiring them to be seen near the entrance to this house again.

As they headed out, Vax looked toward him and Keyleth, “I’d say keep those guns out of sight for a while. We have a dead mercenary with holes unique to your weapons. This could get really bad really fast.”

Percy didn’t need to be told twice. He was more than happy to finish their time in this city and get on the road with as little interference as possible. There was nothing else for them here. They had the lead they needed and the urge to get on the hunt pulsed in his veins. Ripley had the Vestige. Two birds, one stone, and one step closer to the next.

Still, as convenient as that was turning out, he couldn’t shake the visceral fear in his stomach. _Ripley._ Not only was she out there with a weapon equivalent to his, she had been spying on them all this time. Spying on _him_. How much, exactly, had she heard? How much did she know?

And how much could she reveal once found?

No possibility was good. Even though he doubted she could have heard Orthax’s side of conversations, any amount would be enough for her to use against them in terrible ways. The only way to minimize the damage she could do was locate her as quickly as they could and end it once and for all. The sooner the better.

As soon as they were back to the inn, he set to work cleaning and repairing his remaining guns. Keyleth could keep Retort for all he cared at the moment. The more privacy he had to prepare for this encounter, the better. Let her overhear that they had discovered her plot, their plans for travel, their schedule for arrival wherever they found her. All of that could be dealt with. She knew he was coming, but he could make sure she didn’t know exactly what he was bringing with him.

Apparently Keyleth’s scry revealed Ripley was on a ship. Which meant leaving town fairly quickly, as Percy had hoped. Not that he particularly noticed the change of scenery. He spent the majority of his time deeply consumed in drawing, designing, coming up with anything mean and cruel and nasty enough it might give him the edge he needed when the fight came. Something even Ripley in all her sadistic genius wouldn’t have thought of yet.

And the dark whispers in his mind did not disappoint. The idea that came to him was so simple, _so_ simple, and yet so very nasty. He set about designing it immediately, plotting the pieces and proportions, the range of impact, the materials he could make work without a forge at his disposal. It gave him focus, a sense that he was doing _something_ while Ripley was still out of his reach. He buried himself in the work, letting it fuel the cold anger simmering within his chest. Even learning the others had managed to rent a skyship for their journey didn’t pull him from his work the way it may have before. This was it, the culmination of so much of his past. He would not be caught off guard. He would not let Ripley go again.

The others came and went in their brief times, reminding him to take breaks and eat, checking that he wasn’t doing anything more dangerous than usual, generally trying to interrupt his focus. For the most part, he was able to reassure them, ignore them, or humor them as needed. They were fairly accustomed to his marathons of productivity and he suspected it was only the revelation that Ripley was back in the picture that had them checking on him so worriedly now.

So it barely drew his attention when a heavier set of footsteps than usual made their way to his room on the skyship.

“I ate rations for breakfast and slept most of the night. I’ll take a break when the sun starts going down,” he said, not looking up.

“Don’t really care, but that’s probably smart.”

Percy blinked, actually looking over out of curiosity. His eyes refocused slowly on a large form. “Grog. Is something going on?”

“Nah, just more flying. I just wanted to duck in, maybe have a little talk man-o to man-o.”

Percy set down his quill, hand drifting toward his belt as he eyed the Goliath warily. “If you want to finish our matter about the skull, I would be happy to, but this is sadly not the most opportune time.”

“No, no. Not that. I know how that would’ve ended anyway.” He stepped further into the room, crossing his arms in a way that was not entirely reassuring, despite his words. “I just figured, since we’re gonna be seeing that woman you hate again soon, we should maybe have a talk about, you know, how you’re gonna do it.”

“If you’re here to talk me out of using the gun—”

“No! Fuck no!” Grog actually looked a little offended at his assumption. “Are you crazy?! If I could’ve used Craven Edge against Kevdak, I would’ve. I mean, he had a fucking Vestige! We had shit! And now she has one too! Use the fucking gun!”

“Of course, silly me.” Percy settled back into his chair, idly picking up the quill again. “Forgot who I was talking to.”

“That’s okay. Happens to me sometimes too. I just wanted to say, this Ripley, she messed you up, right?”

Percy huffed out an empty laugh, turning to a brief cough. “She did. Not alone, but…she certainly played a role.”

“I can tell. You’ve got that look again, same way you did with the Briarwoods. This isn’t like the dragons. You don’t just want her dead. You want to kill her.”

Percy tightened his grip around his quill for a moment, savoring the minute relief that just tensing his muscles gave him. “I suspect you’re not here to judge me for that.”

“No. We’re with you. We’ll help you kill her. But when you do, make sure it’s you that kills her.”

Percy looked up now, cocking his head slightly.

Grog was watching him, arms folded. Yet his stance wasn’t intimidating or confrontational. It was solid and intense, inviting no argument, but also oddly conspiratorial.

“Use the gun,” the Goliath continued. “Blow her into little bitty pieces so nobody can even tell who she was anymore. And if your demon buddy wants to help or have her for a chew toy after, that’s fine. But this is between you and her. Don’t let it take your kill. Make sure she knows it’s you.”

Percy inhaled deeply, a rich sense of motivation solidifying in his chest. “Thank you, Grog,” he said, nodding slightly. “It will definitely be me.”

“Good. Though if there’s some folks for the rest of us to smash into pulp, that’d be even better.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt she has plenty of tricks to keep us busy.” Percy tapped his fingers on the desk, considering Grog as an idea struck him. “Would you like to see what I’m working on?”

Grog straightened slightly with tentative interest. “Is it something explodey?”

“It is very definitely something explodey. Perhaps the largest explodey thing I’ve designed so far.”

That absolutely had Grog’s attention. He came over eagerly, peering at the papers Percy had laid out in front of him.

“This is just an early version yet, but I wanted something Ripley wouldn’t have seen before. Something that can do more damage than a simple bullet. You know the explosive arrows I make for Vex?”

“Yeah, she warned me which were which so I didn’t try borrowing those ones for toothpicks.”

“Right. Well, this would be a similar, but rather larger idea.” He pointed out the central body of the elongated shape in his schematic. “This would contain not only black powder—lots of black powder ideally--, but also lots of sharp bits of metal or nails, if the crew here are willing to part with some. So when the device detonates—explodes—it should also fire dozens of sharp projectiles at everyone around it.”

“You’re putting little sharp things inside a big explodey thing?” Grog asked, eyes sparkling with the thought.

“Essentially, yes. I’m also thinking about adding some pitch or tar, something that will make the fire stick to people after it blows up.”

“See, this? This is why you’re the smart one in the group,” Grog grinned.

_Oh, what a terrible thought that was._ “I have a few other ideas as well. Perhaps see if there’s something magical we can add to it, give it a few more awful effects.”

“Love it. Love everything you’re doing here. Are you gonna have it ready for Ripley?”

“That’s the goal, yes.”

Percy looked over, watching as Grog leaned over the table, enraptured with the visuals he was no doubt imagining of the weapon in action. And another thought struck him.

“You know, I was puzzling over the best method of deployment for this, and I realize I may have overlooked the most logical option.”

Grog’s hand was already raised eagerly before Percy finished the sentence. He smiled, amused. “Grog, would you like to be the one to launch my new weapon?”

“Oh yes! Yes, please!” He cleared his throat, restraining himself to an exaggeratedly dignified pose. “It would be my honor.”

“You have to be careful with it,” Percy warned. “You can’t use it until I give the signal. I only have one of these until I can get to a proper workshop and I’d really hate to waste it.”

Grog held up his hands soothingly. “I assure you, you couldn’t put it in safer hands.”

_I’m going to regret this. I know I will._ But Percy just chuckled, coughing again. “Very well. The honor’s yours.” He turned back to his design as Grog fistpumped the air. “If all goes well, I’ll work on larger versions for our scaly friends.”

He ran a hand over the schematic, images of his own running through his mind. “But I can’t think of a better target to truly appreciate my prototype design.”

OOO

In the remaining time they had on the skyship, he managed to assemble as close to his vision as he could achieve with the limited resources at his disposal. He loaded the thin-shelled capsule with as much shrapnel, pitch, and black powder as he calculated would create the effect he desired without depleting his stores. The missile looked innocuous enough from the outside, an oddly sleek storage container perhaps to the unsuspecting observer, but he was confident it would be just the sort of nasty surprise Ripley deserved.

When the call went out that they were nearing the island, his heartrate picked up sharply. He felt the smoke curl in the back of his mind, anticipation almost like hunger in his gut again. He gathered his belongings and weapons quickly, carefully wrapping the missile in cloth for transport.

He lugged the heavy device up to the deck, carefully dodging the crewmates who were running around preparing their own ballistae. He spotted Grog, who was eagerly looking for him too, and made his way over to him and the others gathered near the prow of the ship.

“Is that it?” Grog asked, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Yes.” Percy gingerly let the end of the missile rest on the deck. It was even heavier than he had imagined, though the multiple pounds of other weapons and ammunition he was carrying probably weren’t making it easier. “Put this in the Bag of Holding until we’re ready so there are no…exciting accidents along the way.”

“Oh gods, what did you make now?” Scanlan asked, watching the exchange.

“Just a little something to hopefully catch Ripley off-guard,” Percy said, gently passing the weapon over to Grog, who lifted it effortlessly. “Do _not_ drop it.”

Grog put his free hand over his heart. “Percy, I am hurt you would think me so careless.” He opened the Bag and dumped the missile in, vanishing into the void.

Percy winced, raising his hand involuntarily, but knew through the strangeness of magic it was unlikely to bump into the other items in the pocket dimension. And even if it did, he supposed it would only damage their other gear in the Bag. But he would be furious if it went off before he got to use it.

Vex looked between him and Grog. “Did you just give Grog a high-powered explosive?”

Percy rubbed his forehead. “Yes.” He coughed again.

“I get to throw it at Ripley,” Grog beamed.

“And this is a good idea why?” Vax asked.

“Can anyone else throw a very heavy metal object over a hundred feet with enough accuracy and precision to set it off on the intended target?” Percy asked.

Scanlan slowly raised his hand.

“No you can’t!” Grog snapped.

“Technically Bigby can, but I control the hand, so…”

“Also, as an elemental…” Keyleth added, raising her hand.

“I can think of far better uses for both of you than throwing a missile,” Percy retorted. He held up a hand abruptly toward Vex. “And you shush. I could hear you about to say it.”

She was indeed holding back a smirk, which was blessedly familiar and distracting given the horrible situation they were about to throw themselves into. “All right. So, what did you name it?”

He huffed an exhale, steadying his nerves as he adjusted his own weapons. “Fondest Regards.”

Vax rolled his eyes. “All right, fun as this is, we’re about to drop on top of Ripley’s people, so anyone have a plan or are we just going to shit on them while we fly by?”

“You know that’s usually my vote,” Scanlan chimed in.

And honestly, that wasn’t too far from what they wound up doing. The skyship did indeed give them the advantage against the ship below, and after a few strafing passes, allowed the decisive blow of dropping Keyleth’s earth elemental form onto the boat in a far more primitive, but just as effective parallel to what Percy had been brainstorming. They ultimately took the fight to the beach, battling magicwielders and some sort of air elemental creature that nearly carved him up before he dispatched it in a swirl of glass and smoke. Several times throughout the fight, Grog gave him seeking looks, even while in giant eagle form, but Percy shook his head. He had concluded fairly quickly that Ripley wasn’t with this group and there was no way he was wasting his invention before he got to her.

They wiped out the crew on the shore in short order and took a moment to recover as much as they could. The smoke was pulsing in Percy’s veins now and he was fully prepared to continue the hunt into the forest, but the others insisted on a pause to heal up a bit and recover what they could from the wreckage of the enemy ship. He tolerated this, waiting irritably by the edge of the scorched treeline, his foot tapping to ease the excess energy and nerves.

He didn’t like downtime once he had gotten in the heat of a fight. It was easier to keep the anger flowing if he could keep moving, keep seeking his targets. They were _so_ close. Ripley was out there, just beyond his reach, probably doing more terrible things that would come back to bite them the longer they dallied. Quiet also meant time for him to think, and thinking right now meant remembering, and that was not a particularly enjoyable notion given the circumstances.

**Soon…**

Yes. Soon.

At last, they were on the trail again, but moving in a stealthy way instead of at a dead run. Percy reassured the voice in his mind, and honestly himself. Ripley wasn’t a dragon, although in some ways she was damn close. This would take a bit more finesse than their previous kills. And it would be worth it in the end.

As they neared a clearing in the stunted forest, Vax held up a hand and gestured that he would stealth ahead. It was all Percy could do to keep himself still until Vax finally returned, confirming Ripley was in the clearing ahead with two of her thugs. And apparently some concealed relic of their own in a crate.

So she had come up with a surprise for him as well. It was unfortunate to be right all the time.

Vax clapped a hand on Percy’s shoulder, looking him square in the eyes, demanding his focus. “Hey. This is it. We’re going to finish this and finish this right. But let’s not get stupid, yeah? Got your head together?”

Percy nodded a bit jerkily. “Yes.”

“You’re the one in control, right?”

“Yes. It’s me.” He glanced over at Grog, nodding again. “It’s me.”

Vax nodded firmly, clapping Percy’s shoulder again a bit harder than necessary. “Good. We’re with you. Play it smart. Put her down and end it.”

Percy took a shaky, steadying breath, adjusting his grip on his pepperbox. When nothing else happened, he blinked. The others were still looking at him, not moving forward. “Are you letting me make decisions again?”

“This is your fight. I’ll let you take the lead for now. Unless you abuse that trust,” Vax said.

“I mean, you already gave Grog a bomb, so you kind of have been making decisions affecting all of us anyway,” Keyleth pointed out.

Percy huffed a little laugh. “Fair. All right.” He pressed the bridge of his nose, thinking. Play it smart. “The less chance she has to do anything, the better. Stealth is our best gambit. Ideally, she won’t even know we’re here until Grog blows her up from a distance. If she survives, she should be a bit easier to deal with if she doesn’t have all her parts anymore.”

The bluster felt good. It hid the shake in his hands, the tremble under his metaphorical armor that Ripley could still evoke after all this time.

Time to end this.

They made their way quietly through the forest, approaching the clearing. Percy kept a bit further back, knowing he had the range to stay out of melee reach of her or her crew. Still, seeing her at last, the same severe bun, the same dismissive way she carried herself, those same penetrating eyes… It ran cold through his stomach and numbed his fingers slightly.

He felt smoke wisp up around them, steadying his arms as he aimed Bad News.

**She is yours. One last name. Take her.**

He resisted the temptation to just pull the trigger then, knowing it wouldn’t drop her and then all their plans were for naught. Soon. A few more moments. He had waited this long.

The crack of a branch nearly made his finger tighten though. He saw Ripley and her crew whip their heads toward the sound too.

Damn.

Apparently the others had even lighter hair triggers than he did. He saw a few daggers and arrows fly at her, mostly missing.

Ripley held up her hand, gun coming up in the other. “Stop! Stop now! Let’s talk!”

That voice, a shiver of revulsion and hate oozed from his stomach up his spine.

Scanlan, the nearest member of their party, looked to Percy warily. “Should we hear her out?”

Percy didn’t answer, clenching his teeth against the increasing urge to kill. Be done, no more talking, _finish this_.

Not getting a response, Scanlan turned back to the clearing. “What do you want to say?”

The idea of Scanlan bargaining with her, trading silver-tongued words back and forth with that woman, snapped Percy out of it. He cast his Hex out to latch onto her and refocused his aim at her head.

“Step away from the box and tell your men to put their weapons down,” he called, keeping his voice level, as if she didn’t warrant more than his casual displeasure. “And maybe then we will listen.”

Through his sights he saw the quirk of her eyebrow, the slight predatory glint in her eye at his voice even as she backed away.

“Stop moving!” he ordered. He wasn’t certain he could hold the impulse back if she ran.

He could see the crate now, carried by a Goliath of Ripley’s own. Oh, how alike they thought. What twisted new horror had she come up with in anticipation of this meeting? He intended to make sure they only found out by examining it, unused, much later on.

“Put the crate down or I’ll shoot out your ankle,” he instructed the Goliath woman.

She frowned. “Here or bring it to you?”

“Put it down right where it is.”

The Goliath dropped it—how alike she and Grog as well—and backed away.

He refocused on Ripley to see she was staring right back up the sights at him. He doubted she could see him clearly, if at all, but she had narrowed down his location at least. As long as she wasn’t sure about the others’, that was fine.

“Faster than I anticipated,” she called back in her patronizing tone. “Congratulations. Well now, we stand in a curious position. Shall we talk?”

Her officious, unbothered stance almost made him fire right then, just to remind her they weren’t in her laboratory anymore.

“We can talk,” he allowed. “You have however long I choose to give you. Explain to us why we shouldn’t kill you now. It is up to your people whether they are included in that deal.”

He was peripherally aware of his friends spreading out in the woods around her, of her own people shifting cautiously, but his focus stayed completely on Ripley.

“I have fairly procured a few artifacts for myself and you have done the same,” Ripley said calmly, as if they were merely bargaining over a tense game of cards at an inn. “Do we call it an honorable draw and go our own ways?”

“If this were merely about a few artifacts we could have dropped you where you stood and been away with them by now. I believe you know there are previous debts still to settle.”

“I have no interest in the petty tyranny of drakes and dragons. Every great beast—”

Percy actually laughed. “Do you really think anything about this encounter has to do with dragons? Stop insulting us with your pathetic attempts at distraction and get to the fucking point.”

She paused now, genuine interest rising through her expression. “Well, well. You _have_ grown up, haven’t you, Percival?”

“You know what the others have come here for. You’re not leaving this island. Why not let them and the remaining members of your group make that exchange while we talk? I’m afraid we do have the numbers on you now since none of your allies at the beach survived our arrival.”

“Is that so?” She sighed, glancing at the cloaked figure and the Goliath. “Not a great amount of incentive there. Honestly, Percy, you really do need to work your negotiating skills. No wonder your clever friend got the better end of your bargain.”

A new chill crept around Percy’s spine, along with the anger. “He very much wants me to stop talking and just be done with you. I’m not certain how much longer I can hold him back.”

“I had wondered how you made such progress on your inventions so fast, Percival,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Not that you weren’t an innovative boy on your own; it’s why we kept you alive. But combining human ingenuity with demonic vision…” He knew that glitter in her eyes far too well, the eager fascination, almost like lust. “Your potential for destruction is practically unlimited!”

His muscles tensed like metal cables, but he tried to control the fire in his mind, the smoke edging the world.

He heard a murmur in his ear. Grog. “That sounded like a _pretty_ perfect set-up for me to…”

But he ignored him. “Last chance, Anna! Your allies might survive to leave this island, but we are finishing this today.”

“Ah yes, your _new_ family,” her grin took on a dangerous edge. “You know, I was genuinely surprised they indulged your little partnership this long. None of them strike me as having the stomach for such a venture. Of course, they don’t truly know the extent of the bargain, do they? I assume you haven’t told them about its latest addition to your gun?”

He didn’t consciously pull the trigger. He probably could have controlled the impulse, kept his thoughts on the goal instead of letting himself be manipulated. Perhaps it was anger, perhaps the reflexive panic to shut her up. But regardless, the gun was fired and that was that.

The shot was perfect too, straight between her eyes. And perhaps it was because he was still looking through the sights that he saw the bullet pass right through her head with no more effect than if she were made of smoke. The horror and fury made him snarl as he saw Vax’s dagger pass through the illusion just as uselessly an instant after.

“Damn! Grog, now!” he snapped, even though he knew the situation was fucked. She had to be close. The range on an illusion like that was limited. He could still catch her in the blast radius, do _something_ before she got to them.

There was another instant to watch the phantom Ripley disappear before he heard Grog’s grunt of effort and braced himself for the explosion.

The missile worked as designed. It detonated on impact where the illusion had stood with a concussive _boom_ and spray of fire and shrapnel, but that was immediately doubled by a secondary blast. The very soil below the missile’s impact site erupted in its own explosion, the force of the combined blasts throwing everyone backward, knocking even Percy off his feet in a maelstrom of combustive destruction.

Fuck! Fuck fuck fucking fuck!

The crate was a decoy. The real trap had been laid in the ground itself. And he had fallen for it just as she wanted him to. Mindless, wordless fury consumed his mind as he realized not only had he been goaded into breaking first, he had wasted his one missile only to have it literally blow up in their own faces. The sting of pitch and metal fragments in his own skin were all too literal salt in his wounds.

Shaking off the ringing in his ears from the double explosions, he surged off the ground. Pure hate flowed through his veins, giving him clarity through the smoke and fire, across the newly ripped chasm in the middle of the clearing, to the form walking up on the other side, far too unscathed for his taste.

**Kill.**

The smoke whipped out from his mind, latching his Hex onto the figure. This time, he truly felt it grip onto her, knew this was the real Ripley.

He heard his allies getting up around him, saw the shadowy forms of Ripley’s men spreading out to engage them, but his vision narrowed down to one figure only.

Ripley.

And he unloaded Bad News into her.

He wasn’t sure a fight had ever been simpler. Not easier—this was not easy by far—but gloriously uncomplicated. Ripley was here. She needed to die, not just for his revenge, but for the security of the entire world. No ambiguity, no restraint. Nothing but her and a very obvious, very necessary outcome. This was everything he had prepared for and he poured himself toward it with single-minded focus.

Ripley seemed likewise intent on him. He was peripherally aware of battle raging around them, his friends engaged with whatever lackeys Ripley had managed to dupe into working for her, but he had only one target in his sights. And she showed no concern for what her people got up to either, spending her bullets only at him.

Percy was fairly sure he had never fought better. His weapons moved like extensions of his body, every movement fluid, his hands firing, reloading, and firing again so smoothly it barely warranted notice.

Ripley was evasive, though, despite his preternatural speed. His shots did not land as often as he expected, those that did hit less impactful than usual as the cloak around her shoulders glittered with each one.

Percy felt a burst of pain like fire in his side and realized one of Ripley’s people had shot him. The insult, the sheer gall of being shot with one of his own weapons in the hands of a mere thug was more irksome than the pain itself. He diverted his attention momentarily to fire back at the rifleman with a snarl.

Ripley took advantage of the lapse—of course she did—and managed two shots into Percy’s chest and stomach. His body spasmed as the second unleashed a blast of electric energy through him on top of the piercing impact. It was enough to force the wind out of him, dropping him to a knee as his muscles seized. His head fogged slightly before smoke roiled through it, cutting through with icy clarity. He felt his muscles tense more normally and steady him involuntarily.

**Stand. Will you let her slay you as she slaughtered your family? Kill you and everyone you value here because you were weak?**

“No…” Percy grunted.

**Show me. Show her you are no longer a boy, screaming in her dungeon. She betrayed your family, spied on you, fooled you, turned our weapons against us. She would take everything you love again.**

“No,” Percy growled, firmer.

**Get up. Show her what you have become.**

“Yes.”

He felt the familiar rush of energy and power as the smoke flowed through him, the pain dulled to a memory. He rose to his feet, wreathed in smoke, and saw the glint of intrigue and, yes, fear in Ripley’s eyes across the crater.

**Kill.**

He strode forward, the rest of the battlefield fading as his world shrunk down only to _her_. The sounds of gunshots and sword clashing was muffled beneath the pulse in his ears. He felt bullets scrape by through the cloud surrounding him, but at most they grazed him. All the while, he loaded, fired, switched weapons, and fired, fired, fired, eyes never leaving Ripley.

He saw the uncertainty flicker in her eyes now, watched it bloom as she shot him straight on in the chest but failed to break his stride. Seeing the spark of panic beginning, Percy descended on the weakness.

Trick shot. Disarm her.

Her bastard pepperbox skittered across the glass.

Violent shot. Literally disarm her.

His bullet shattered the metal of her fake hand, knocking her off balance.

Closing on her, he drew his sword, slicing it across her abdomen, then in a series of small, precise slashes down her good arm, beside her neck, along her cheekbone. None meant to kill, nothing so merciful. He wanted her to know the feel of steel in her skin at the mercy of another’s amusement.

As he knocked her back to the ground, he felt the hunger rise in him, clawing and insatiable. His hand tingled as he sheathed his sword and drew his gun again.

**Finish it…**

He raised the barrel, her name gleaming already with purple-black energy…

And held.

_Finish it…as me._

He willed the smoke behind him like a cloak of his own and reached up to remove his mask. He didn’t even remember putting it on. Breathing a little raggedly, blood trickling down his chest, he looked down at Anna’s pitiful, vanquished form.

“You should’ve stayed out of my way, Anna. You might’ve stayed last on my list, not worth my time. But you got greedy. First with guns, now Vestiges. I can’t imagine it was worth it.”

She looked up at him and he saw that damned, gut-twisting admiration in her eyes, a delighted smirk on her bloodied lips. “Oh Percival, I couldn’t be more pleased. You turned out an even better monster than I imagined. A worthy successor to the Briarwoods.”

His finger slammed the trigger, more a reflexive jerk than intentional pull. The smug grin was blasted off her face in a spray of blood and bone. He saw the flare as her name vanished from the gun, felt Orthax’s form swell up larger behind him.

And stared down at Ripley’s body.

The smoky form seemed to curl closer, a beaklike form beside his ear. **Very good…**

The tone—so close to Ripley’s purred praise—was too much just then. Percy sucked a gasp, throwing the pepperbox to the side like it was red hot and cutting off the smoke abruptly. Suddenly feeling the adrenaline drain away with the dispersing cloud, his legs went weak. He staggered back, away from Ripley’s corpse, dropped clumsily to his knees despite the sharp ground, and heaved on the broken glass.

It mildly surprised him that it did not come out black.

He heard footsteps crunching the glass behind him and remembered blearily he was not alone in the clearing. He found couldn’t quite manage to care if someone was about to finish him off.

Instead, a tentative hand touched his shoulder, then rested gently on it as he relaxed, seeing the archer’s glove it wore.

“It’s all right,” Vex said softly. “It’s over now.”

He should probably say something. Reassure her maybe. Scoff at her optimism. But he just put his hand over hers on his shoulder as he sat back and turned his head to rest his forehead against her arm.

He wasn’t sure if he cried then or just looked that pathetic at the moment, but Vex knelt beside him and wrapped herself around him. It hurt—everything hurt now that he could feel things again—but he let himself indulge in the moment, and the lovely fantasy that anything was actually over.

He heard her exclaim over the number of bullet wounds he had, felt the warmth of healing spells drift through him. Not enough to remove the pain completely, but all Vex and Keyleth had left. The battle had taken just about all everyone had, but Ripley and the majority of her men were dead. The young man who had been arguing with Ripley now stood behind Vax, but had a defeated air and was avoiding their eyes, so Percy ignored him. Keeping one for information on Ripley’s exploits wasn’t a bad idea.

Percy took his time getting up as the others began picking through the bodies, gathering all the guns and ammunition they found. He gave Ripley’s body one final look, then limped over to his pepperbox, leaving her to rot. Let one of the others harvest her arm for the people back in Ank’harel. He was done with her.

He hesitated as he crouched painfully to pick up the gun, looking at it for a moment before finally reaching down. He turned the barrels cautiously.

One blank. Orthax hadn’t picked another target yet.

Percy put the gun in his holster and made his way after the others.

The skyship would take too long to get all the way to Whitestone before their deadline with the Ravinites, so they decided just to take it as far as Ank’harel and travel by tree from there. It meant less people knowing about Whitestone as well, so so much the better.

The young man they had obtained from Ripley was apparently coming with them. He glared darkly at Percy the whole time, but did nothing, so Percy decided he was Vax’s problem and focused on his own situation.

As they settled in for dinner and the trip back, they divvied up the spoils of the fight.

Vax lifted the cloak someone had pulled off Ripley’s corpse. “So this is the cloak worth killing someone for.”

“What does it even do?” Scanlan asked.

“Not make you invincible, apparently,” Vex commented.

“Harder to hit, though,” Percy said, sorting the ammunition into large and small gauge piles. “With a few other nasty surprises.”

He realized they were looking at him. He supposed he hadn’t spoken much since the fight.

“What do you mean?” Keyleth asked. “What kind of surprises?”

“When I hit her, it felt like not all of the force got through. Like something was…stopping some of it? Or taking it. And _her_ shots…” He set down the bullet pouch, frowning as he remembered. “One of them felt like getting hit with lightning.”

“You sure that’s not just what getting shot feels like?” Scanlan asked. “You’ve never been on that side of a gun that much before. Maybe that’s just part of the thing.”

Percy huffed a bitter laugh, one hand rubbing his chest and the still sore wounds. “I had ample experience for comparison. No, this was something different.”

“But you think it was the cloak, not just some new thing Ripley could do?” Keyleth asked.

“Ripley had no other magic,” Percy said, sitting back. “If she had, she would have used it and not on something as subtle as a little extra shock. She’d have found something crueler. And even I haven’t figured out how to electrify a bullet.” Although that turned some interesting gears in his mind.

“So a little extra protection and lightning on attacks.” Vax looked at the cloak appraisingly. “Probably best for someone who uses weapons and takes damage more often.”

“You have two Vestiges with the dagger and more cloaks than you even wear,” Vex said dryly.

“I wasn’t thinking for me,” he retorted. “I thought maybe Grog?”

Grog perked up from sharpening his axe at the sound of his name. “Me?”

“Might be a good idea. You do tend to like being in the fray,” Scanlan agreed.

“Sure, but what are we arguing about? It’s Percy’s. He killed her fair and square.”

Vax scowled. “Percy has more than enough magical weapons already. And I’m not sure we want to make him any harder to hit should…anything go wrong.”

Percy said nothing, sorting through a few more of the bullets.

He saw Grog frown, recognized the face of him digging in on an opinion. “I got the Titanstone Knuckles when I killed Kevdak. Ripley was Percy’s Kevdak. He earned that fancy cape thing.”

“We’re just not sure it’s the best idea to give the powerful magic item to a person who might be a little bit E-V-I-L,” Scanlan said in a hushed voice.

“ _He’s_ the one who can’t spell, you idiot, not me,” Percy pointed out.

“Grog, are you just arguing for this because Percy let you throw his bomb?” Keyleth asked.

“No,” Grog sat up, a defensive, slightly offended look on his face. “Although that does show he can be trusted with knowing what to do with dangerous stuff.”

“Does it?” Keyleth persisted. “It did kind of blow up on us more than on Ripley.”

Percy waved a hand dismissively as he continued sorting bullets. “I’ll make more. That was just a prototype.”

“See, that’s not actually reassuring,” Keyleth frowned.

“If you give it to me, I’m just gonna give it to him later anyway,” Grog stated, crossing his arms.

Vax clenched his jaw. “Stubby? Might be helpful for you.”

Vex grimaced, glancing guiltily between Vax and Percy. “I already have Fenthras. I think we should give Percy a chance. He did earn it.”

Vax sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “You know the day he does snap, you’re going to be the one at the front if we fight him?” he said to Grog.

“Vax!” Vex hissed.

But Grog was grinning. “I know. You promised.”

“All right. Fine. But if you ever use this against us, even by accident we’re taking it back,” Vax said, passing the cloak across the group to Percy.

Percy accepted the fabric, feeling the little crackle of power in the lining, but didn’t feel the full excitement he usually would at having something new to experiment with. His mind was still too aware of the blank barrel on the gun in his holster. It was only a matter of time. Orthax was going to choose a new target and there were far too many troubling options he could pick from for Percy’s peace of mind.

But there was nothing he could do about it and the conversation had moved on now as Vax examined his new dagger. Percy focused on sorting the ammunition again. That was simple, precise, soothing. Orthax would make his choice known soon enough. All Percy could do until then was try to keep his anxiety from showing and take care what needed to be done in the moment.

OOO

They found their makeshift quarters on the skyship again that night. Percy opted to bunk in the workroom he had made use of on the flight out, settling his gear around him. With his weapons as cleaned and repaired as he could make them in this limited space, he set them on the table and decided to try on the cloak.

He felt the little crackle of power as he put it on, steadied his breathing and closed his eyes as he focused on that energy, accustomed himself to it, embraced it.

It felt good. Simple. No new voices or burdens accompanying it. The knowledge he had taken it from Ripley added a particular pleasure to wearing it, certainly, but nothing too far beyond the experience of wielding any magical object.

“It suits you.”

He looked over his shoulder in surprise. Vex was nearly as good as her brother at sneaking about when she wanted to. “You think so?”

Vex let herself the rest of the way in the door. “Blue is certainly your color, darling. And you’ve always had an eye for finely made outfits.”

He turned back, considering himself in the reflection of the window, translucent against the blackness of the sky beyond. “Yes. I think it will do nicely. What brings you down here, Vex’ahlia?”

“I just wanted to check in. It was a big day for you.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “Yes, it definitely was that.”

“How are you?” She stepped over, her brow crinkling with concern.

Percy blew out a slow exhale.

“I know it can’t have been easy seeing that woman again today,” she continued. “You won and you know she’s dead now and can’t hurt anyone again, but I know that doesn’t fix everything. Or change what you felt.”

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses slightly up his forehead as he turned around fully, leaning back against the wall. “It was…unpleasant. I don’t like to admit how much effect she still had on me.” Her voice, the look in her eyes, like he was a pet who had pleased its master…

He drew a breath, straightening and looking over at her with an attempt at a reassuringly content expression. “But she is gone and we all lived. Whatever other poison she’s left in the world, we’ll deal with it later.”

Vex was looking at him, that perceptive stare that somehow never felt as invasive or demeaning as Ripley’s. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about the fact that you’re not all right, I’m here. You know that.”

A rush of fear went through him. How much had she seen? What had he looked like with Orthax assisting him during the battle? Had Ripley said more than he remembered?

“You were there for me in Syngorn,” Vex continued. “You let me talk about how the people there affected me, and you didn’t judge or dismiss me. I hope you know I’ll return the favor for you if you want to talk about what Ripley did to you back then. Or just what you went through today.”

Oh, that. Relief flooded through him, dousing the panic. He gave a little chuckle, nodding. “Thank you. I… There are things that one day I will speak of that I’m not really ready to deal with yet. But I know.”

“Good.” She smiled, breaking that intense assessment as her pose relaxed too. “Still, it must be a relief to get another name off your gun, hm?”

Percy smiled as well, carefully removing the cloak and draping it over a chair. “It…is long overdue.”

He heard a clank of metal behind him and immediately recognized it as a gun being picked up. Terror rushed through him as he whipped around. “Don’t!”

But Vex was already holding the gun. _The_ gun. Her back was to him, but he could see how she had frozen, how she was holding it where she could see the barrels.

The single blank barrel. And the one that should have been blank, but wasn’t.

“Percival…”

“I can explain,” he said, hearing the desperate edge in his voice.

“Can you?” She turned now, a dangerous hardness in her eyes he knew well, though it had never been directed at him before. “My brother’s name is on your gun!”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he assured her quickly. “And I have no intent of ever fulfilling it.”

“Why is it there, Percival?” she demanded.

He huffed a frustrated breath. “Apparently Orthax considers him a threat.”

He saw Vex twitch, heard the shake in her voice. “Why?”

Percy scratched his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “Because Vax made it clear he opposes this partnership. I am fine with Vax’s obviously justified concerns, but Orthax…is not happy with him.”

“And so he wants you to _kill_ him?!”

“I won’t! I swear to you! I’ve rejected his pushes multiple times.”

“Multiple…” She stared at him, no less horrified. “How long has his name been on here?”

Percy grimaced. No point lying now. “Since we took Umbrasyl’s off.”

Vex gaped at him. Percy began to wish he hadn’t survived the fight with Ripley.

“That was weeks ago! Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!”

“Vax already doesn’t trust me with this deal. I didn’t want to give him more reason to think I was a threat.”

“Your demon wants you to kill him!”

“But I won’t! I can control this. My sister’s name has been on there even longer and I haven’t tried to kill her.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” she snapped. “How can you be so casual about something like that?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he insisted, soothingly. “There are plenty of other names on the gun. And as they disappear, there will be others. I never have to remove either of those names.”

“Really?” she glared at him skeptically. “And what happens if he keeps adding names of people you supposedly care about?”

“I do care! And he knows I’ll resist him if he tries to make me hurt one of you. As long as he keeps giving me names I’m willing to take out, ones that deserve it, we both benefit. It’s under control.”

Vex stared at him with that assessing look again, finger tapping the gun. “You said it put Vax on here because Orthax considered him a threat?”

“Yes,” Percy sighed.

Vex held the barrels up in front of her mouth. “Hey, shithead! If you don’t leave Percy alone and fuck off back to the hells I’ll destroy this gun and then come after you myself and tear you apart!”

“Fucking--!” Percy scrabbled with her, managing to wrestle the gun from her grip and pull it away from her, holding it at a distance. “Are you insane?!”

“You _are_ scared of him,” she said, pointing at him accusingly.

“Of _course_ I’m scared of him!” Percy snapped. “He’s a demon who owns my soul and can order me to kill people. I have been trying to maintain a _very_ delicate balance to keep it from hurting any of you and I can’t do that if you decide to go and provoke it yourself!”

“Then don’t.” Her voice and expression softened and she approached him, hand held out placatingly. “We don’t need its help. We have two more Vestiges now. We can find more before we face the rest of the dragons.”

He shook his head. “A cloak and a few daggers or gauntlets aren’t going to be enough—”

“You don’t know that. We’re powerful enough to have killed one. _You’re_ powerful enough. The demon may have given you the inspiration, but _you_ built everything. You don’t need that gun. You have all your own inventions. Just…stop using that one.”

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could make her understand. “It’s not that simple.”

There was a pause, then he felt her hands on the sides of his face. He opened his eyes to see her right in front of him, her eyes sad and pleading. “I think you can beat this thing that binds you. I know you are strong enough to keep it from winning. But I’m not okay with what that gun’s doing to you. So this is _my_ rule: I won’t tell the others about Vax’s name being on your gun, _if_ you stop using it.”

He started to protest, but she cut him off. “You have Bad News. You have Retort and all Ripley’s other guns. You have the same brilliant mind that built all of them in the first place. I’m not asking you to get rid of it. Just…put it away. And maybe we can figure something out before this gets out of hand.”

He hesitated, feeling his hand shake where he held the List. He was going to pay for this, he knew it. But then, Orthax hadn’t seemed to mind when he killed someone with Bad News. The name still vanished off the List regardless. Maybe, just maybe, this could be an acceptable compromise.

He scrunched his face up, already regretting it. But it was Vex. “All right. It’s a deal.”

Her thumbs stroked his cheeks and she smiled, relieved. “Thank you, Percy.”

He grunted a half-hearted agreement as she let go of him. “Oh, this is going to end so poorly.”

“Not if we can help it. Just…tell us when things like this happen. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

_You can’t help me anyway._ “I’ll try.”

“Okay. Get some sleep. You got shot a lot today.”

He assured her he would and saw her out of the room. As soon as she left, he closed the door and searched the barrels of the gun.

The barrel was still blank.

His racing heartrate began to slow, but only slightly. There may just be a delay. He didn’t know if Orthax always worked the same way or if he would relish torturing Percy a bit by leaving him worrying.

Either way, he knew there would be no sleep tonight. He resigned himself to work, inventorying the weapons they had retrieved from Ripley’s people, fixing any that were damaged, and checking, constantly checking, to see if Vex’s name appeared on the barrel.

It was still blank by the time he passed out a little before dawn, slumped over the array of firearms he had helped bring into the world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long delay, but long chapter to hopefully make up for it. It's so weird now, having watched the Dalen's Closet one-shot and then going back and writing Percy so deeply mired in his demonic bargain. :) Fun to see how far these characters went in a few years, and what could have happened.
> 
> Hope this is worth the wait! We're in the latter stages of the story now. Things are starting to come to a head.

The barrel was still blank the next morning. And stayed blank while they returned to Ankh’arel and gave Ripley’s arm to the dead mercenary’s former coworkers. And when they stepped back through the Sun Tree into Whitestone, it was just as blank as it had been after Ripley died.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him, Percy conceded. Putting Vax’s name on the gun had been a shock and a warning. Adding another’s now would be unsettling, certainly, but also expected. It was a far crueler torture to leave it hanging over his head, a constant reminder and itch beneath his skin that Orthax could put someone on there at any time should they displease him. The demon had shown mercy leaving Vex off after the conversation last night, possibly reasonably sated still from being given Ripley. But who knew how long that armistice would hold, especially if Percy delayed getting his next target again?

No, best to get on with this war with Vorugal and the others. Although a little lingering fear tickled in the back of his mind. One the dragons would be gone and he had no guarantee who would be next.

The group decided to stop and pick up Pike on their way to the Castle and enjoy a meal together before they got down to the business of planning their battle with the white dragon. She was glad to see them alive, of course, and eager to hear all about their trip.

Despite his happiness at seeing Pike again, his mind was still preoccupied, nerves twitchy as he fidgeted with his pepperbox—not taking it out, just tracing the blank barrel with his finger, checking.

Apparently it was obvious enough Pike noticed. “How are you doing, Percy?”

He put on a reassuring smile. “Better now that you’re back with us.”

Her brow creased slightly, reading through his attempt to charm and deflect, he was sure. “It has been a while since you guys left. Would you like me to give you a Greater Restoration?”

“That would be welcome, Pike, thank you,” Vax answered for him.

Pike nodded decisively then. “Okay. I can do that.” She reached up and took his hand, leading him forward into the temple. “How about you guys go ahead and we’ll catch up?”

“We don’t mind waiting,” Vax replied.

“Nonsense,” Pike said cheerfully, still guiding Percy in. “We’ll just be a few minutes. Go get a round ordered for us and we’ll be there soon.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Pike,” Keyleth said nervously.

“That’s okay, I am. See you there!”

It was amazing how a woman so small managed to decisively but not impolitely shoo an entire party of larger beings out of her temple that effectively. Percy marveled anew at the power she held over them, which only made it a bit more intimidating that she was insisting on being alone with him.

As she closed the door, he tried for a cautious joke. “Should Scanlan be concerned we’re alone together here?”

“No, I just figured people tend to be able to relax and open up more when there isn’t a crowd.” She gestured him to sit down on one of the benches in the currently empty temple, then climbed up beside him and fixed him with a serious, but nonjudgmental look. “So, how are you doing, Percy?”

Damn her and her endearing charm. Percy sighed, finding himself slumping slightly despite himself. “It…was a trying few days.”

She nodded, still calm and receptive. “Anything new or unexpected?”

He frowned, giving that serious thought. “Not especially… It’s getting more impatient if I wait too long between…removing a name from the list.”

Her brow creased slightly more, but her expression didn’t change. “Impatient how?”

He shifted, feeling an echo of that restlessness again. “Edgy. Demanding. Like…having a persistent itch you can’t scratch, or hunger when you have nothing to eat.”

“Does he make you do anything?”

“Not directly, no. I was still in control, I could still say no. It was just…distracting. And irritating.”

“I bet,” she murmured sympathetically. “Do you feel that all the time?”

He thought about it again, did a quick mental check. “No, not exactly. Not like that. It’s more when I’m near one of the targets he wants me to kill or if he thinks I’m moving away from what he wants me to do. But after I finish one, it’s calm for a time. Quiet. I think he gives me a reprieve.”

“So why are you edgy right now?”

Percy swallowed. There was so much of this arrangement he didn’t want Pike to have to know about. He was well aware none of his choices recently were admirable, more decisions of survival, accepting things he would never tolerate under better conditions. Somehow it was easier accepting that Vex had learned about the secret he bore. The idea of confessing it to Pike brought up a shame he hadn’t let himself really feel in a long time.

Being in a dark, cold temple again wasn’t helping either.

Well, an abridged version then.

“I killed Ripley.”

He saw the flicker of almost pity in her eyes, immediate concern, and he knew this conversation would very quickly devolve into something he wasn’t ready for if he didn’t finish his thought.

“That was fine, I’m fine. But every time I remove a name, then there’s an empty barrel again. And it’s only a matter of time before Orthax will fill it. And other than the dragons we don’t have a lot of convenient enemies around right now for him to choose from.”

There. Close enough.

Pike nodded, looking thoughtful. “And you’re worried he could add someone like Cassandra to the gun again.”

“It’s a very real possibility,” he agreed.

She sat up straighter, fixing him with a determined look that managed to both inspire him and intimidate him. “Well, we’re going to fix this, Percy. You know all of us are going to help you get rid of that thing and figure out how to get you free of this. We have to kill the dragons first, but we haven’t given up on helping you. You just need to hold on until we can deal with this properly. If he did put somebody good’s name on the gun, are you able to tell him no?”

“So far, sort of. I haven’t tried to kill my sister yet.” Vex was right; it _was_ weird how much he used that in his defense.

“True, true. So just hold onto that. You have control. He can tell you what he wants you to do, but you can choose whether you do it. And if he tries to punish you for it, we’ll be there to help you, okay?”

“I suppose so.” He chose not to tell her about the walk home from the Raven Queen’s temple. He didn’t like remembering that night himself. “I promised Vex I would stop using the gun,” he offered, somewhat sheepishly.

Her face lit up. “That’s wonderful! I’m really proud of you, Percy!”

That made him feel even worse. Nothing about his situation deserved Pike’s admiration.

The eyes of the statue of Sarenrae nearby seemed to burn into him, as if making it clear she had no intention of giving him the credit Pike did.

He wanted to get this done and get out.

Pike put her hand on his arm, her eyes still bright and hopeful. “You’re going to get through this. We’re here with you. Just remember that whenever the other voice in your head gets too loud.”

“I shall do my best,” he said, attempting a smile for her, half-hearted as it was.

“That’s all we can ask. And in the meantime, if Orthax gives you moments of peace and quiet, try to enjoy them. Get drunk. Have fun. Can’t have you forgetting how to be human.”

He actually chuckled a little bit, however darkly. “That I can do.”

“Good. Now come here. I can’t fix everything, but let me try to help a bit.”

The warm divine energy felt lovely and relaxing as it flowed through him, but he noticed the feeling didn’t linger after as it had before. As soon as Pike sat back, lowering her hands from his face, the chill settled back into his core and the edginess returned to his nerves. But he smiled and thanked her and followed her to the nearby tavern that the rest of their group had settled into and had a drink and let himself pretend for a moment, just maybe, Pike was right.

And only once subtly checked to make sure her name hadn’t appeared on his gun.

OOO

As they made their way into the castle, running into Gilmore and Jarrett at one point for brief hellos and a few quick analyses of their new Vestiges, they were a bit surprised to see Seeker Assum head their way.

“Ah, I had heard you were back in the city,” he greeted them. “There is some new information while you were gone that I would like to discuss with you. We’ll meet in the war room if you have a moment.”

And then he was off, barely waiting for confirmation they were coming. With some wary looks exchanged, they followed.

Percy was likewise surprised they were heading upstairs to one of the old meeting rooms his parents had used for political discussions rather than down to the magic-defying space they had assembled by the ziggurat. A little twinge of something odd prickled in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure if that confidence from Assum should make him more or less at ease.

As they entered, Assum was already seated at the large table that once had been covered in maps and papers that his father and Julius would have been discussing at length. Percy had never taken much interest then. His attention was far more focused now.

“Thank you,” Assum said. “Please come in. Close the door behind you. I think we should have some privacy for this.”

An odd location choice then, given the large window behind Assum that overlooked the city. But then, everything about this felt odd in a troubling way.

“Very foreboding, Assum,” Keyleth commented.

“This is an important conversation.”

“Should we have this downstairs, then?” Vex asked. Good. The rest were uneasy as well.

“I’d prefer to have it here, in private,” Assum demurred.

“Out with it,” Vax snapped, in even less mood for games than the others.

Assum rose and spread his arms on the table. “Thank you for coming. I think it’s time we discuss something of extreme importance.”

The little prickle spread down Percy’s spine, his fingers twitching near his holster.

“Assum, I’m sorry,” Keyleth said. “I don’t mean to be insistent here, but if this is as private of information as you seem to be making it out to be, maybe we should go to the room where we know cannot be spied upon.”

“I assure you, this room is safe. It’s going to be a brief discussion.”

It most likely would, Percy mused. Followed by a rather lengthy conflict and fallout to explain.

“I would feel more comfortable downstairs,” Vex tried. “We talked about this.”

But Assum ignored her as well. “Before I continue, hear my words. Think before you act. I implore you. Understand that not all is what it seems and I come to you as an ally.”

Smoke was trickling through his thoughts even before the supposed Assum’s eyes altered, green scales flowing around their now-cunning, reptilian, _familiar_ appearance.

Well. So much for a reprieve.

He barely heard what the dragon said next, the phantom sensations becoming more of a whisper in the back of his mind, sharpening his senses, readying his muscles.

He wasn’t sure if the dragon noticed his tension or just the change in the group overall, but it cast its gaze over all of them. “Violence will not end in your favor. You have no plan, no trap. I am smarter, more prepared, and more powerful than all of you. I know of Whitestone. I know your tricks, and I know your weaknesses. If I wished you destroyed right now, I could have done it a thousandfold already. So consider the fact that we’re even having this conversation is me putting forth a lot of effort and intent to have this discussion.” Its eyes locked perhaps on him, perhaps on Vax, who he realized had moved slightly more in front of him. “No rash actions.”

It was taking most of what Percy had to stay still and silent. And yet…not quite as difficult as it had been while they were in Ank’harel. The hunger was there in the presence of his target, yes, but not as desperate and animalistic. He was ready, oh so ready, but…present.

Interesting.

“Now, let us put our cards on the table, shall we?” the dragon continued, all too confidently, resting its arms on the table—his family’s table, in _his_ castle. “I, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, am Raishan. It is a pleasure to meet you in person, slayers of the Hope Devourer and the Iron Storm. I need your help. I wish to kill the Cinder King.”

Oh. Interesting indeed.

“That’s it?” Vex spoke up. Familiar bravado in the face of a dangerous situation. “We’re just supposed to trust you?”

“No!” the dragon almost laughed, far too at ease. “I assumed you’d ask questions. I’m an open book. What do you require?”

“Why in the fuck should we trust you?” Vax demanded, shoulder-to-shoulder with Vex.

“You shouldn’t, to be perfectly honest,” Raishan replied. “I am a being that rides the line between what’s true and what’s false, and I know your research has spoken the same. However, strange circumstances make for strange bedfellows. And circumstances as they are, I think you have very little choice, as do I.”

“I think we’ve taken on more than enough strange bedfellows in this fight,” Vax huffed, his own bravado in play as his posture closed off even more. “This is all sounding a bit too familiar to me.”

“I assure you, any questionable alliances you’ve made in your ventures thus far are paltry before what I can offer.”

_I’d be happy to test that_ , Percy thought, but managed not to say.

“Why?” Scanlan piped up. “If you, as you say, could destroy us horribly a thousand times over, why _are_ you here asking our help?”

“Listen for a moment and I’ll tell you a bit about the history of this green dragon before you,” Raishan said, sitting back a bit, arrogantly.

Annoyed, Percy began to tune her out slightly, listening with one ear while casting his gaze around the room, looking for signs of other trickery or threats. Best he could tell, they truly were alone with the dragon here, although admittedly the odds of seeing through a green dragon’s illusions weren’t terribly likely. And he was all too aware of the thin pane of glass separating the beast from Whitestone proper.

He touched the cold spot in the back of his mind. _If you see anything out of place, anything I ought to know about, do let me know._

He got no verbal response, but felt a little increase in the flow of smoke through his veins and a general sense of confirmation. Good enough.

His attention tuned back in a bit more at the mention of the green dragon being cursed. That bore some potential. Ancient or not, a sickly dragon was a far more preferable challenge than one at the peak of its abilities. And, as her long-winded tale indicated, a point of leverage over her. He filed that away, musing over the possibilities as she continued her rant of grievances and desire for revenge at the red dragon who had betrayed her after she invested a great deal of effort in his liberation.

As Raishan went on, a little nudge in Percy’s mind drew his attention to the bristling rage building in Keyleth nearby. Ah yes, these were the individuals who directly destroyed the Fire Ashari. He shifted to watching her while the dragon spoke, wondering whether this would be the crack that initiated the inevitable combat.

“Thordak will experience all of those things,” Keyleth growled as the dragon finished listing what she wanted to do to her once-ally. “He will burn and he will suffer and you will not be there to watch it happen.”

Yes, this could be a problem.

“Keyleth?” Vex said warily.

But Keyleth was beyond listening. Percy half expected to see smoke swirling around her as she snarled at the dragon.

“You want to feel the burning inside of you? Oh, you will feel it, Raishan. But it will not be from Thordak or whatever proposed cure he made up. The burning you feel will be from the souls of ten thousand Fire Ashari as they sear your flesh, and the last thing you will see will be my face as I watch you suffer, as you watched a quarter of my civilization burn!”

Percy had to admit, he was actually somewhat impressed. The tingling was stronger in his hand now, itching to draw the gun from his hip and feast on the target only a few meters from him, join Keyleth in her rage and tear the smug sense of security from the beast’s poisoned hide…

But he couldn’t help casting his gaze past the dragon, down to the village below, oblivious to the danger within the shimmering boundary curving above. The boundary that had, only days ago, prevented a similar creature from razing them.

Damn.

Raishan seemed uncaring of the danger she faced as well, fixing Keyleth with a dismissive, patronizing look. “Child, I commend your bravery in the face of certain doom, but think before you give in to such base passions. There is much to be gained by us working together, and so much more to be lost.”

Whitestone. His people. His home. His sister. Everything he had just gotten back so recently, and could be taken away again so quickly over such a stupid lack of control.

He was still in control.

“Oh, you commend me for bravery?” Keyleth continued. “Oh, Raishan, for someone who is supposed to be so smart… I am not afraid! I know what you are. You are a parasite. You walk around, calling yourself a magnificent ancient dragon. You are nothing more than a leech. You consumed the energy of my people for years! And we’re supposed to trust you?”

“Child, your anger is misplaced—”

“Call me child one more goddamn time!” Keyleth roared.

“All right, this is getting us nowhere,” Percy said, stepping forward past Vax and Vex to stand slightly ahead of Keyleth, though not directly blocking her.

“Percival…” Vax warned softly, but Percy ignored him.

The dragon, distracted from Keyleth, arched a scaled brow his direction. “I had wondered how long it would take the lord of the house to speak up.”

The patronizing tone, a ghost of Ripley’s, almost made him put a bullet in her head that moment. But he maintained his calm. “You came here, disguised yourself as one of us, infiltrated my people. Had unsupervised access to sensitive areas within the city. You could have used that to take out our magic users and lower the illusory shield at any time, left us exposed for the rest of your allies to finish off. Since you did not, I am inclined to believe you do mean at least some modicum of what you’ve said; that you are not here right now for a fight.”

“Percy, she murdered my people,” Keyleth snapped. “She unleashed Thordak! All of this is her fucking fault!”

“And fighting her right now, however satisfying, is not going to undo that or bring them back. Trust me.”

He saw the flicker in her eyes as she read between the lines, her furious stance faltering a bit, caught off guard by the plea of emotion in the middle of this heated exchange. Good. That bought him a moment without her interrupting him.

He turned back to Raishan. There was a little creep of visceral, animalistic fear in his stomach at the awareness of the creature that sat before him, yet surprisingly he felt oddly stable and calm. In control.

“As I was saying, I am willing to accept, for the moment, that your stated intentions are genuine, if not complete. However, I am not a man who takes bargains lightly these days. You come to us with a plea, based on our shared desire to see the red dragon destroyed. However, unless I missed something implied, you’ve brought very little to the table. In order for there to be any level of…alliance, much less trust, I need to hear what you intend to bring to the bargain. You seem to be suggesting you are not capable of killing Thordak yourself. What _do_ you bring that makes it worth our time and security to coordinate with you?”

He felt the others on edge behind him, breaths held, but Raishan remained unfazed by his disdainful tone. One more bit of proof how much she needed him.

“I bring information—”

He snorted, starting to turn away.

“I bring knowledge of Thordak—” she pressed, starting to sound irritated.

He gestured dismissively. “Not enough.”

“Where is Assum?” Vax asked, dangerously quiet.

“I know where Assum is.”

“Which makes you about as useful as a Scry spell,” Percy commented.

“Let’s start with that,” Vax interjected, sparing a dark look at Percy.

“The one you call Seeker Assum is alive in Emon, still working amongst the Clasp,” Raishan said calmly, strained patience managing to hold her offense at bay for the moment. “The story I gave you was mostly truth, peppered with necessary deceit to place me here amongst you for the time I needed. He is there to secure survivors against Thordak. I infiltrated the ranks of the Clasp, gained his trust, which allowed me to find your whereabouts, and so I came. He sent me on a mission to notify you of his plans, which, by the way, along with Brotoras, Goldhand, and the Clasp’s cooperation, they have a plan to strike at the Cinder King.”

“What’s their plan?” Vex asked.

“One that will fail, of course. You see, they put their knowledge in what a red dragon is capable of. They believe that by quelling the flames or stoking some nature of the crystal in its belly’s magic, there would be a way to stop him. And there is a path to be taken there, yes, but their knowledge is faulty. They don’t understand the nature of the enchantment, and should they attack, they will burn in the flames of their own righteousness.”

“Vague doesn’t prove you’re useful to us,” Percy commented. “What else?”

“What’s your illness?” Vex prodded.

The dragon exhaled. “I wish I knew the extent of it.”

The scaled areas extended further, green patches stretching down the throat, chest, and arms of the image of Assum’s form. Across the scales, he saw thick, dark veins pulsing.

Percy heard the conversation continue on with venom from each side, but he focused his attention on the diseased areas. The color, a deep purplish-black, looked just familiar enough to make him question.

_Orthax, is this a mark of demonic connection?_

The cold presence spread through the back of his mind. **No. While it is a curse, it is not of Abyssal origin.**

_So she is not bound to a being similar to you or your kin?_

**If so, not in a way I can observe any more than you.**

He wasn’t entirely reassured, but that was as good as he was going to get.

_Thank you. Keep me informed._

He didn’t know if the demon assented, but felt its presence remain, so he let it go at that.

“What about the white dragon?” he heard Grog ask and tuned back in.

“Before we would consider any terms, we would need the white dragon removed from the playing field,” he added, hoping his distraction had gone unnoted.

“Could be a good way for you to show us your loyalty, even though you have none,” Keyleth said pointedly. “But know, Raishan, whatever deal we strike does not end in you leaving my sight. You’re going to die. You’re going to die even if I have to die doing it.”

Raishan gave her a dark smirk. “Amusing.”

“Oh, she’s telling the truth,” Percy commented. “What you’re bartering for is a minor extension of your life to _after_ we kill the Cinder King. I’m personally considering whether you even leave this room.”

Now Raishan’s eyes snapped to his, her patience running dry. “You think that because you took surprise upon Umbrasyl, the brute, his inferior intellect, that you will have the opportunity to strike me down? You have no idea what I’m capable of, no matter what malady festers within me.”

“Apparently it includes underestimating those who would destroy you.”

“Percival…” Vax murmured, not far behind his back.

Despite not dropping her halfling form, Raishan managed to give the sense of looming over Percy. “This is your home, right, Percival?”

“It is,” he agreed, unflinching.

“It would be a shame for it to suddenly no longer exist.”

He felt the tension increase even more behind him, but was unfazed. “There are a great many unfortunate ways this could go. You could destroy the city. You could kill all of us right now, or people we care about. I’m sure after spending time here you’ve figured out who would hurt most. And I believe you would do all of those without hesitation.” He ventured a step forward. “However, none of those would get you closer to seeing Thordak destroyed. You helped destroy Keyleth’s people and surprisingly she doesn’t seem more inclined to help you, does she?”

He planted his hands on the table across from Raishan, adrenaline pumping in his veins now, thick and smoky. “Threats to those I care about does not persuade me. Usefulness does. You’ve already indicated you are not capable of killing Thordak yourself. You need us alive and willing to fight. We will be taking down the red dragon with or without you. Show us you have something of practical value to offer besides a bit of trivia and gossip and you may be able to get what you desire as well when this is over.”

Raishan sneered slightly. “I thought you had already made up your mind to kill me regardless.”

Percy smiled slightly. “I’m a practical man. I don’t mind making a concession or two if the trade is worth it. Such an outcome need not be immediate, after all. It could be a day after Thordak’s death, or a century. Assuming any of us survive at all. Entirely depends on how you decide to proceed.”

Raishan glared back at him, the visible green scales bristling, halfling nostrils flaring, but she did not move, nor break his gaze.

“Okay, this is really, really fun, but _do_ you have a plan? Or a super badass weapon that can kill dragons?” Grog asked.

“One step at a time,” Percy said calmly, still holding Raishan’s gaze. “White dragon.”

Raishan’s eyes narrowed, but he saw the moment she acknowledged some degree of necessity to cede ground and a cold satisfaction spread through him.

From there, negotiations were much simpler. They managed to secure her participation in their fight with the white dragon without agreeing to more than a follow-up discussion on the terms of their possible partnership. And added a stipulation that that follow-up occur in an intact Whitestone. And kept Keyleth and Raishan from leaping into combat with each other, despite considerable efforts from both sides. They had access to increased knowledge of Thordak and the potential to learn more about the orb in the ziggurat on future conversations. He was quite satisfied, all told.

As it seemed the negotiation was wrapping up, Percy had a thought.

_Care to put a little bit of fear into our friend here?_

Orthax didn’t speak, but the presence seemed to comprehend his intention. The smoke flowed down toward the floor.

“We will reconvene tomorrow for battle,” Percy concluded. “Plan for travel. Tomorrow morning to arrange travel and the battle plan towards—”

“Shouldn’t we keep an eye on this one all night?” Scanlan asked, jerking his chin at Raishan.

“No,” Percy said calmly.

“What?” Vex frowned at Scanlan. “We haven’t kept an eye on her the whole time.”

“I know, but she could be sneaking around, creeping into our rooms—”

“I suspect she’s already crept most places of interest in her time here. Not much point in changing her status now.”

“Very well,” Raishan said, beginning to revert back to the scarred, but fully Halfling form of Assum. “I’ll go check in with the boss, if you will. Alleviate any concern on his end.”

“Thank you. Oh, there is one more thing I feel you should know, Raishan.” As she paused, listening, Percy steepled his fingers in front of his mouth thoughtfully, drawing out a moment. “You mentioned not being aware of the Briarwoods. In your research, did you read much about my family?”

“Nothing in particular. They had little relevance to my needs.”

“Pity. My ancestors built this city, with this castle as their home and center of government. And they ruled consistently throughout most of its history, other than a brief spell recently. However, while they accomplished many great deeds, many of them were…not _good_ people, per se. There is a great deal of shadow entwined with the history of my family, the history of this castle itself. The ziggurat was a surprise, honestly, but far from the only dark magic to have found root here.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is, you are still free to roam the castle, as it is pointless to curtail you now. But be aware: Just because _we_ cannot see you…”

He felt the others startle, shifting sideways with a few little gasps, while Raishan’s focus flickered briefly from him to the shadow he knew was spilling up the wall behind him.

“…Doesn’t mean _Whitestone_ isn’t watching.”

Raishan looked back to Percy, her eyes somehow even harder to read in their halfling appearance than their dragon form. “Noted.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” She nodded and took her leave from the room.

“Downstairs. Real war room. Now,” Vax said.

They filed out, Vax gesturing Percy to precede him out the door. Percy felt the shadow pool back into him as he politely obeyed.

None of them said anything as they made their way down to the basement below the castle, heading for the space near the ziggurat. Percy felt a bit light in his step as they walked, his shoulders straight and gait confidently easy.

They gathered in the thankfully vacant makeshift war room at the top of the ziggurat, the few guards on duty far enough away to grant privacy.

As they settled into place, Keyleth faced out toward the darkness and let out a frustrated scream for a bit.

“You did well, dear,” Vex assured her when she finished venting.

“You’ll have your day. Absolutely,” Vax promised.

“We’re actually going through with this?” Keyleth asked. “We’re sure we don’t want to try to trick her and take her out when her guard is down?”

“I’m not opposed to that,” Grog grinned.

“What, right now?” Scanlan asked.

“ _After_ she helps us kill the white dragon,” Percy said, sitting comfortably at the head of the war table. “Then all bets are off. But let’s get the most out of this terrible idea before we blow it up.”

“Speaking of, was that shadow you or Orthax?” Vax asked.

_Not sure where the distinction lies there._ “Orthax, at my command. I thought Raishan could use a little evidence that we are not the simple mortals we seem.”

“Maybe so,” Vax nodded, stepping so that he stood near the table, requiring Percy to look up to make eye contact. “Still, I seem to recall we had a deal of our own.”

An echo of the tension in the other war room hovered in the air around them. Percy looked at Vax, unintimidated. “We do.”

“And the biggest part of that deal was that you would not make decisions for this group.”

“Did I make any decision on the others’ behalf?” Percy retorted. “I believe there was a vote, if I recall.”

“You stepped up and spoke for the group. At least I assume it was you, and not your shadow.”

Irritation flickered through Percy and he scowled. “I spoke for Whitestone. _My_ city, which the dragon is currently using as a bargaining chip. And regardless of any deal I swore to you, I am bound to protect that first and foremost.”

“You should have left the bargaining to one of us.”

“Like Keyleth? She would have had us fighting the beast right there.”

“If that was what it took.”

“And get my people killed in the process?”

“That’s enough! Both of you!”

Percy and Vax looked over at Vex. Percy hadn’t realized he was now standing over Vax, suddenly aware of his greater height. But the icy look in Vex’s eyes outweighed any of that advantage. Letting out a breath, Percy stepped back, holding up his hands to show her he hadn’t reached for his gun.

“This is pointless,” she snapped. “The bargain’s made. So let’s quit fighting with ourselves and make the best of it.”

“Too much of that lately,” Vax muttered as he stalked off back closer to Keyleth.

“All right,” Vex sighed, rubbing her forehead. “So, what do we do now?”

Percy paced a little bit away as the others discussed options. They didn’t want his opinion anyway. Staring off into the darkness of the chamber around the ziggurat, he breathed steadyingly, taking stock of himself.

It was an odd thing, he reflected. One of his targets was right here in the castle. He had just had a confrontation with another. But the urge to kill was not overwhelming. It was there, a hunger that lingered below his ribs, a tingle in the fingers of his right hand, but it was becoming a constant. Like a background sound: present, but no longer distracting.

The smoke too drifted beneath his skin, ready, but not billowing out. He commanded a bit to flow out of his hand and watched the gray wisps emit from beneath his glove, and only from that glove. It stopped just as quickly with another thought.

Very interesting.

“Hey, you with us?”

He looked up, almost putting the hand behind his back guiltily as Vex walked over. “Sorry?”

“Still you?” she asked, quieter. “All good?”

“Yes.” He flexed his hand, but straightened, standing in front of her calmly. “I…lost my temper a bit, but for stupidly human reasons, I’m afraid.”

“Okay. Just checking. Let’s go then.” Seeing his apparently blank look, she frowned. “To the library? You weren’t listening, were you?”

He grimaced slightly, so she continued. “We’re going to summon a fiend called a goristro for the white dragon to fight, so we need to look up a picture so Scanlan can use the Gate scroll to call it to Draconia.”

Percy blinked. Apparently the conversation had gone some interesting directions without him. “Sorry, definitely missed that. So, we’re going to the library? All of us?” The thought of Grog among all those books, bored and looking for some way to entertain himself…

“The others have their own things to do and I think it’s best to have some space for a bit. I figure you know your way around the library and you get in less trouble with me around, so…”

He managed a faint smile. “I certainly wouldn’t object to the company.”

“Good, ‘cause you don’t get a say,” she said, but there was a teasing edge to her voice. She threaded her arm with his, most likely to steer him and keep him on track, but he took some satisfaction in it anyway.

OOO

It was certainly one of the crazier plans they had tried, but Percy had to admit it had potential. The goristro he found in one of his family’s books looked like a worthy challenge for a dragon. Orthax seemed to agree, familiar as he was with his fellow Abyssal denizens. The fact that the creature held another Vestige in its gullet was an even more inspired detail. Percy had to begrudgingly approve.

They made their preparations for the trip back to Draconia. Percy had a word with Jarrett, who was now training the guard force at Whitestone, and spoke to him about putting some of Ripley’s guns and ammunition to use there, with proper training, of course. He couldn’t stick around himself to do it, but it was suggested the boy Vax brought back from Glintshore could offer some assistance, under monitored circumstances. Percy kept Ripley’s own pepperbox for himself, though. It was practically a twin of his own, and he wasn’t forbidden from using it.

They recruited Kima to come with them and planned to leave to set up for the fight the next day. It was decided Scanlan would be best to tell Raishan they were heading out, despite Percy’s discontent at not being present for conversations with her. It must have gone passably well, though, as Raishan travelled with them through the Sun Tree, maintaining a dwarven disguise, but was required to find her own rest for the night rather than be permitted into the mansion.

As the others reconnoitered with the Ravinites, Percy worked on his weaponry, fully restocked with ammunition and black powder now thanks to Ripley’s supply. The hunger felt more like a honed edge, singing in his veins in anticipation of another name off the list so quickly.

All in all, the fight started better than it had a right to. They had time while Vorugal was away to set up their ideal positions before the battle, including hidden sniper positions for himself and Vex and the mansion as a shelter to retreat to. Using Ripley’s Animus was still unfamiliar and felt a bit awkward, but he had had some time to practice with it and felt he would reasonably be able to compensate for any differences between it and his List.

The Gate spell worked, and even more amazingly, Scanlan actually managed to Dominate the goristro to prevent it destroying himself or the others immediately. When Vorugal did return, the great beasts waged war on each other, as hoped.

However, the problem with pitting a large, ape-like fiend against a dragon came in once the dragon took flight. As Vorugal rose out of the goristro’s reach, it began climbing the wall of the ravine to try to reach. The very wall Percy was staked out in the side of.

He froze, barely breathing as the beast climbed past him. Each scrape of its clawed hands vibrated through the ice forming his hideout. Carefully, he eased himself further back into the alcove, still aiming, but hoping to reduce the chance of glare off the gun’s barrel.

Apparently, it wasn’t enough. He heard the goristro pause its climb, the rumble of its growl as it turned toward whatever glint of metal or shuffle of movement had caught its attention. There was a breathless instant, then Percy saw the motion of its swinging fist and fired instinctively, pressing back further against the wall.

The shot hit, blasting through muscle, but it couldn’t stop the fist. Percy braced—

And felt nothing.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He didn’t feel the expected pain. He did feel the impact of the fist, the shake of the ice walls, but it seemed to happen on a wall just in front of him. Because…the wall _was_ now slightly in front of him.

The threat of being imminently crushed apparently past, Percy watched the fist recede and listened to the monster continue its climb. Cautiously, he moved forward and stepped back out _through_ the wall into the alcove, unscathed and just slightly confused.

“Percy?!” he heard Vex’s worried voice through the earring. “Are you all right?”

He looked back at the wall behind him, dark with shadow. Shadows he had just apparently merged with.

Just as Orthax could.

“Yes,” he said, somewhat distracted. “I’m fine.”

And then the roar of the white dragon filled the air and he decided this could be thought about later. He resumed his position at the somewhat smashed entrance to the ledge and prepared for the fight.

Percy found he was actually looking forward to the battles these days. Perhaps ‘looking forward to’ wasn’t the right phrase, but they were the times his life made the most sense now. Orthax was satisfied, he was on the same page as the rest of Vox Machina, and he could fall into a simple rhythm of aiming, firing, reloading, casting Hex on it, picking shots, firing again, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Granted this fight took a bit of a turn as neither monster finished each other, so they wound up fighting both the goristro and the dragon at the same time, but they had planned enough hidey-holes they were able to get some relief. It was a grind, and the snow was causing more misfires with his weapons, which came with a nasty surprise from Animus. But he shook off the pain of the psychic backlash, switched guns and continued his assault. He was pleased to see that Raishan eventually stopped taking her own shots from the sidelines and finally showed her true face to engage the white dragon directly.

From there, the fight was locked in and it only took a moment more for Vex’s arrow to finish off the fleeing Vorugal.

Percy sucked in a breath, feeling the flare of power through his veins as the name disappeared off the barrel of his gun.

**Very good…**

The adrenaline pulsed in his veins. And a thought passed through his mind.

As the white dragon dropped toward the ground, Percy shifted his aim slightly, looking down the barrel now at the bulk of Raishan, still flapping between him and Vorugal. He had the shot. She wasn’t even thinking about him.

His finger closed on the trigger…and held, trembling with the force of holding back. No. The others were beat to hell already. Powerful as he felt, a one-on-one dragon fight was more than he could reasonably finish. He still needed the others.

He forced himself to let go of the trigger, feeling the displeasure of Orthax, but reminded him it was stupid to give up a sure fight later for an impulsive one now.

There would be time. Just two left on the list. Very soon.

He rappelled down from his perch as the others began clean up. Keyleth and Vex were already at work harvesting the Vestige out of the goristro’s innards. As healings were distributed and bodies scavenged, Percy nodded to Raishan.

“Thank you. You’ve earned a conversation. We will see you at home. You should get there quickly so there’s no suspicion.”

If she had any idea she had been briefly targeted by him, she gave no indication. “Very well. I hope this…display of intent has quelled some of your worries?”

“It gives me reason enough to continue our dealings.”

She nodded in return. “See you at ‘home’ then.”

She turned back into the form of Assum and vanished away in a teleport.

Percy exhaled a breath, quieting the hunger in his core, and turned back to the group. He noticed Vex looking at him with an expression of deep disappointment. He almost started to protest he had already spoken for them to Raishan and hadn’t decided anything new, but paused as he noticed there was a sadness in her eyes. He frowned, baffled what he had done to cause that.

Then he looked down at his hand, and saw he was holding the List.

He could have sworn when Animus jammed that he had switched to using Retort. Of course, in the heat of battle, it was entirely possible old reflexes overrode conscious choice and he grabbed the familiar gun by instinct…

It hardly mattered, he supposed. He had made Vex a promise, and broken it mere days later.

He looked up again to say something, offer some apology or rationalization, anything of whatever meager value it had, but she had already turned away and was walking with Keyleth toward the body of Vorugal.

Exhaling, he shoved the gun back in its holster irritably. Well, what was done was done, however inadvertently. There was nothing he could do now to fix it, just deal with the fallout. Best thing to do was just finish this and destroy the remaining dragons. They could clean up the wreckage after.

OOO

They finished harvesting any material of value from the remains of the white dragon and concluded their business with the Ravinites. It turned out the body of Tiberius was able to be located and a more proper burial and tribute arranged for. Percy stood back as the others said a few words for their former companion. He wasn’t sure what he could offer. At least they had gotten revenge on the dragon that destroyed him and his civilization. It didn’t fix the loss, but it was better than nothing.

The newly blank barrel stayed blank that day, as did the one that was once Ripley’s. Percy noted this with a fairly dull interest, then put the gun away and didn’t check again. He would know when Orthax had a new target for him.

Returning home to Whitestone, they discussed their options and coordinated a meeting with the leaders of the resistance. Once more, they gathered in the less secure war room, rather than the space on the ziggurat. Raishan was maintaining her hold, he supposed.

They took their places in the room at the table. Cassandra perked up when he walked in, looking as exhausted as if she had been out on their journey with them. He realized briefly he hadn’t told her about Ripley’s death yet. That should cheer her up a bit. For now, he just gave her a nod and settled in beside the rest of Vox Machina.

Raishan, in her Assum form, was already there, standing by the window. She declined to sit for the meeting even when Percy offered a place next to him. Very well. That was how this would go.

They related the story of how they defeated Vorugal, omitting Raishan’s role, and Keyleth showed Allura the Spire of Conflux she had acquired. It was generally agreed the war with the dragons would escalate from here and preparations needed to be made. Options were discussed and Percy did his best to follow along, but once again kept his opinions mostly to himself. Besides, the majority of his attention lingered on ‘Assum’, watching the figure pace around the table and doing his best to suppress the tensing of his muscles each time the loop passed near him.

He did not care to admit the other reason he was having trouble focusing on the meeting itself. Perhaps he should have thought through the attendees. With Raishan, Cassandra, and Vax present, three of his directed targets were all grouped in close proximity. The hunger, now a familiar background sensation, had filled his chest and he had to keep flexing his hand to reduce the tingling sensation. He kept his breaths deep and even, attempting to take in the logistic details of how to make their final strike on Thordak’s base of command.

Raishan wasn’t making it easier. He swore she was making it a point to brush against the back of his chair as she passed by. Despite the casual, business-like air of her persona, he thought her eyes lingered on him more often than they would by random chance. How much did she know? Had she seen him aim at her? Had she researched what his display at their first meeting might actually indicate?

Either way, it only made the smoke obscure his thoughts even more. He pushed his chair back and opted to walk over to look out the great windows over the city, giving an impression of simply thinking deeply.

_Not here. Remember the city is here. There will be a time._

**Your allies are also all here. She believes you are in an alliance. You will never have more powerful people at your back than if you finish it here.**

_That’s not the wise move. They are not prepared. Whitestone could be destroyed. We could lose everything._

**You will not. She is weak, and you are stronger than you have ever been.**

“Not here.”

“What?”

Percy blinked, realizing he had spoken aloud. The others were looking at him.

“Percival?” Cassandra asked, frowning, but still looking at him with the trust of a sister who had no idea what he had just been speaking with. “What did you say?”

He cleared his throat, which felt a little rough with smoke, and straightened up, trying to recall the last relevant bit of conversation he had overheard. “There can be little doubt we’ve earned Thordak’s attention. If we stay here now, we will only bring his forces down on the people of Whitestone. We cannot hide anymore. If we are going to amass an army, it is time to do so away from here.”

Drake nodded, agreeing it was time to set up a secondary mustering site. Percy felt relieved he had apparently covered reasonably well.

As most of the places they had allies in were towns, not forts, Cassandra asked ‘Assum’ what else he knew about the layout in Emon.

Listening to Raishan describe the altered state of the former capital city—and its dragon occupier—Percy felt the whisper of smoke by his ear again.

**You will not get another opportunity like this, Percival. Once you are on the battlefield, your forces will be split, fighting both her and Thordak, as well as his army. If you descend upon her now, you could destroy her easily.**

_You were fed very recently. You’ve no reason to be so bloodthirsty so soon. Don’t destroy our situation because you are impatient._

**Don’t waste your advantage because you are too afraid.**

Anger flickered in Percy’s chest. _I’ve burned too many bridges with these people as is. I cannot break their trust further without sacrificing everything we have worked for to this point._

**Choose wisely, Percival. If you cannot, you know I am more than willing to do so for you.**

A shiver ran down Percy’s spine, remembering the gap in his memory from the Raven Queen’s temple to how he returned to the Slayer’s Take.

Tuning back into the conversation, he heard them mentioning whether the Fire Ashari could help them understand Thordak’s power to bring the Fire Plane into the Material one.

“It’s a shame we don’t have knowledge of the ritual that freed Thordak,” ‘Assum’ commented.

There was arrogance, and then there was outright taunting. Percy glanced back down the table and saw Keyleth seething, her hands pressed to the table to keep herself from throwing a spell at the dragon right then and there. Apparently, if Percy didn’t make a decision, Orthax wasn’t the only one who would choose for him.

Very well. Sometimes a powderkeg was going to detonate no matter what. The only option was to decide which direction the majority of the explosion aimed.

He strolled casually around the table in Raishan’s direction. Not the gun. He may have broken his word to Vex, but there was no reason to rub salt in the wound. He had his sword. Quieter, less expected for those he knew were likely watching his every move anyway. He could draw it under the table, soundlessly.

Well, might as well get this over with.

Drake was commenting on something about what other allies they may have out there.

Percy drew back the sword and with the lightning-quick reflexes of years of quickdrawing, stabbed rapidly into Raishan’s back.

And watched the blade pass through with a shimmer and the sensation of going through empty air rather than flesh. Fuck.

With a flash, ‘Assum’ was suddenly several feet away, looking back at him, offended.

Percy barely had time to register this before he heard Allura’s voice snap out and instantly his whole body was frozen in the all too familiar bonds of a Hold Person spell.

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

Around him, the room erupted in chaos. He heard yelps to stop, saw Cassandra stand and try to move between them before seeing he had already been subdued. He was vaguely aware that Keyleth’s yell was in celebration instead of alarm, but that was little consolation at the moment.

“Percival, what the hell are you doing?!” Cassandra hissed.

“I have him,” Allura said, voice steady, eyes locked on him. “Assum, are you all right?”

“I—I am. He just missed me,” Raishan managed, sounding shocked and a little hurt. Fine actress.

“Allura, it’s not what it seems like,” Vex said, holding her hands out to try to calm the situation.

“Is he still using that gun?” Allura asked, not taking her gaze off Percy.

“He’s Percy. He always uses guns,” Grog said helpfully.

“The cursed one,” Allura clarified.

“Well…yes,” Vex managed.

“Cursed?” Cassandra asked, looking to Percy, worry finding a way through all the previously existing stress in her face.

Damn.

“It’s a complicated situation,” Vax sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “There’s a lot going on here.”

“I should say so!” Drake sputtered.

“Friends, any chance everyone can ease down, put the weapons and spells away, and _calmly_ explain what just happened here?” Gilmore asked, his voice a welcome balm on the energy of the room.

“Cassandra,” Allura said, “I’m sorry to say your brother is likely under the influence of a demonic entity.”

Cassandra stepped back, looking at Percy with a disturbed expression. A lot of eyes were suddenly staring at him with a mix of suspicion and alarm.

“Okay, that’s true, but he’s also the only one who finally did what we should’ve done days ago!” Keyleth spoke up. “Assum’s not who he appears to be. Wanna show them your real face before we do?”

Now all eyes slowly turned to Raishan, taking their confusion and suspicion with them. Well, that was a plus.

Raishan looked around the room, assessing her options. Then she stood straighter, crossing her arms in a more composed stance. “I prefer not to drop this image. However, we may speak through it.”

Ah. He should have anticipated she wouldn’t even be present herself. Damn it all.

Now all the council members were shifting their attention—and sheathed weapons—toward the short figure. Except Allura, who split hers between Raishan and maintaining her concentration on Percy.

“Who exactly are we speaking to?” Drake rumbled.

Raishan arched an eyebrow at the assembled people inscrutably, then nodded. “Very well. Since my hand has been forced. Hello. Seeker Assum is still rattling on, dealing with the difficulty of preparing for the current circumstance we are discussing. I…am Raishan, member of the Conclave and, up until recently, tenuous ally with Thordak the Cinder King, who is now considered a mutual thorn in all of our sides.”

Percy noted the shift in the room from confusion to barely concealed terror and betrayal.

“So,” Raishan continued, uncaring of the tension, “I’ve made an agreement with your Vox Machina for quite some time. And together, using our combined strengths, we slew Vorugal, the Frigid Doom, over in Wildemount. We have returned to reconvene. I have provided nothing but honest, upfront, and necessarily vital information to your victory. So…?” She looked around expectantly.

“She’s telling the truth,” Vex sighed, sounding defeated. “Although it was only a few days, not ‘quite some time’.”

A few people looked back and forth, at a loss in this new situation.

“Gilmore?” Allura called, eyes back on Percy. “My spell’s going to end shortly. Would you please take the pistol off Percival’s belt?”

Percy managed an involuntary grunt of protest.

“Not a word, de Rolo,” Vax snapped.

Gilmore stepped over carefully, looking at Percy with a baffled and apologetic expression as he gently took the List out of its holster and stepped back. Percy’s muscles spasmed against the magical restraints, panic beginning to thunder through him, but the bonds held strong. He thought he saw a wisp of smoke for his efforts, but nothing further.

“Just hold onto it,” Allura said, now giving Percy a calming look. “We will deal with this when things are less…pressing. I believe the moment has passed.”

Cautiously, still watching him intently, she lowered her hand and Percy felt control return to his body. He staggered, off-balance, but straightened, putting his sword away. The moment was past indeed.

“Given this…new information, would you like me to cleanse the room, perhaps?” Gilmore offered tentatively, the gun resting in his hand at his side.

“Might help if Gilmore were to…make sure everyone is on the up-and-up in this room,” Scanlan agreed.

“She’s not actually here,” Percy rasped, getting his bearings again.

“Percival!”

He ignored Vax. “If you dispel the magic, it will just make her disappear, not reveal her.”

“He is correct,” Raishan nodded. “I am quite comfortable where I am. Pardon me if I take a few…how do you say…careful back-ups in case one would take a blade and stab at supposed allies.” She shot Percy a particularly venomous look.

“Pardon me for knowing this is not an alliance,” he retorted. “This is a tenuous relationship and you know that neither of us trust the other.”

“Seems you have experience with bad alliances.”

“That’s enough!” Drake barked, cutting through the tension crackling in the air before Percy could be riled further. “Can someone explain what in the hells is going on? What is this creature doing here?”

As Vax began to explain for the group, Percy felt a touch on his shoulder. Vex gave him a very pointed look and gestured with her eyebrows for him to step back from the table. His jaw clenched. The green dragon was in his home, negotiating this razor’s edge partnership, and he was being blocked from speaking on behalf of his home. He still felt the cold pulsing in his chest, the tingle in his hand to rip his gun from Gilmore’s grasp and finish the job.

But he turned on his heel and stalked away from the table, chewing on his thumb irritably to vent some of the stress.

As he leaned against the wall, forcing himself to stay out of the continuing conversation, he became aware of Cassandra watching him, moving slightly closer. For the first time since the fall of the Briarwoods, he could see her very much as the teenage girl she still was, recognized the overwhelmed fear in her eyes.

And yet, as much as he sensed she wanted him to be her big brother and make sense out of this whole thing for her, she also was eyeing him warily. She who had seen him at his worst in the tunnels below the castle, who had seen gods only knew what during those years he was gone.

She wanted her brother, and neither of them were sure if he still was anymore.

_Does she know that she’s on the gun?_

He broke eye contact with her, perched his fingers on his face in an inadequate imitation of his mask’s pressure points, and tried to tune out the world around him.

By the time the meeting seemed to be wrapping up, he had managed to rein in most of the smoke roiling in his mind. The cold still battled with the nerves in his stomach. He was very aware Gilmore still had his gun and there was going to be an even more involved Conversation shortly.

He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the wall, staring out the window, when he heard Raishan make her farewells and footsteps start heading his way.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” he asked, savoring his irritability.

“I don’t want to hear it, honestly,” Vax snapped.

Percy turned back to the room. Raishan’s illusory form had indeed disappeared, but he still had Allura, Gilmore, Cassandra, and Drake, in addition to the majority of his own team. “Work out a plan?”

“No thanks to your sneak attack,” Vax growled. He was almost shaking with anger. “I asked one thing of you, above all else. And you jumped in to antagonize that dragon twice without a thought about the rest of us! Are you serious, Percival?!”

“I still think we should have let him,” Keyleth muttered unrepentantly.

“It’s not _that_ I’m angry about,” Vax said. “I don’t want to be bound to that creature any more than you do! If we’d killed her today, I would have been the first to throw a party. But it should have been _our_ decision. Not the man with a demon whispering in his ear!”

Percy refrained from commenting. It wouldn’t help for them to know the alternative was for it to have been one of them.

“How do you feel, Percival?” Allura asked.

“There’s a dragon in my home, holding my city functionally hostage. I suspect you can imagine how I feel.”

“Percival.”

For a woman with no children, she had an uncanny grasp on that maternal tone. He blew out a breath. “Stressed. Angry. But…functional.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Vax muttered.

Percy was going to retort, but felt a twinge in his chest, that feeling of wires poking around inside his ribcage again. His head whipped toward Gilmore, who was casting a spell over his gun. “What are you doing?!”

Gilmore finished the spell, the last purple sparkles fading out in the air. “Just identifying exactly what we’re arguing about.” He sucked in a tight, hissing breath. “This is a very unsettling piece of technology, Percy.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Percy, I did not intervene when I first saw what you were using on the promise that you would go to Kima or Pike if you felt yourself beginning to lose control,” Allura said evenly. “Have you kept that promise?”

_More or less._ “Yes.”

“He has been receiving a Greater Restoration from Pike every day we see her,” Vex affirmed. “We’ve made sure of it.”

Allura frowned. “And the effect is still this strong?” She chewed her lip, looking him over, likely with more than standard vision. “I think we need to end this.”

“I agree with that completely,” Vax said, perking up.

“That is a bad idea,” Percy pleaded, fear curling in his chest.

“I don’t think you get to decide what’s a bad idea after _stabbing_ a dragon,” Keyleth said.

“You broke our agreement.” Vax jabbed a finger his direction like one of his daggers. “You endangered the party and everyone in Whitestone on an impulsive act. It’s past time we stopped gambling on this idiotic game.”

“I have harmed none of you since that deal!” Percy snapped. “I have done _everything_ in my power to keep this thing from hurting people—”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Allura soothed. “This is not a burden you should carry. There is no reason to allow your soul to be consumed for a little extra power in a fight, even against dragons.”

Percy swallowed hard, eyes darting to the List. He didn’t see the gleam of magic indicating a new name being added, but he suspected darkly in his heart that Allura was being considered. Damn it.

“Thordak has already claimed too many brave young heroes,” she continued, pain in her voice. “I don’t want him to be the cause of your loss as well.”

Cassandra, who had been lingering at the back thus far, stepped forward, catching his eyes. “Percival. Please. I can watch Whitestone. I can get the people fed. I can keep the people armed. I can organize the day-to-day.” She nodded her head toward where Raishan’s image had stood. “I can’t keep it safe from that.”

“I know. We’re going to kill it.”

“Percival,” she pressed, catching his gaze, her voice shaking. “I can’t do this. I need you.”

He wanted to point out he was more useful out killing dragons, but found his voice failing him. He looked around. He was very cornered and outmatched here. Options flickered through his mind. There were enough shadows by the drapes of the window. He could merge into them, come out beside Gilmore, use the surprise to wrench the gun out of his hand, be back into the shadows and out the door, away down the hall and out before anyone could catch him. And then…then…

He heard a groan. Scanlan was looking toward the ceiling as if asking for help, or forgiveness. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m not so sure this is a good idea just now.”

The others spun around, surprised.

“What?” Keyleth asked.

“Don’t tell me you’re in _favor_ of letting him stay possessed?” Vax demanded.

Scanlan sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “No, it’s not that.”

“I’m in favor,” Grog said, raising his hand. Vex shushed him.

“Look, you all heard what Emon’s like now. We’re going into a _volcano_ , to fight the biggest fucking dragon that ever existed! That’s crazy! People are gonna die. We almost died just fighting the last one.”

“That’s always been a risk, Scanlan,” Vex said softly. “We knew that when we started this.”

He mumbled something.

“What?” Grog asked, overly loudly.

“I have a daughter now!” Scanlan repeated.

There was a breath of awkward silence.

He rubbed his eyes again. “I have a daughter and she made me promise I wouldn’t die. I don’t want to break that promise. And…I kind of feel like having every little bit of help, even if it’s from a demon, means a slightly better chance of keeping that promise.”

“You’re saying you want Percy to stay possessed longer to up your chances of not dying to Thordak?” Keyleth asked, a bit incredulously.

“That _was_ the point of all this,” Percy commented quietly.

“That’s not your responsibility to take on,” Allura insisted.

“I’m not saying leave him like this forever,” Scanlan said. “Just…it’s a couple more days. We’ve already let it go on this long. If we bail out before the final battle, all of that trouble and risk was for nothing.”

“You’ll gamble his soul on your own fear of dying?” Keyleth demanded.

“Of not letting my daughter down? Yes!” Percy was actually impressed. He hadn’t realized the gnome had that much conviction in him. “If him having some extra demon powers is the difference between us living and dying, I’m fine with a few extra days. It’s gonna be just as hard to get out of him then. You don’t get rid of a weapon right before the final fight!”

“We have the Vestiges! We have armies! Maybe another dragon!”

“And it might not be enough!”

There was another tense pause, the air simmering almost visibly.

“He’s my brother.”

Everyone looked Cassandra’s direction. She had stayed mostly silent during the entire exchange, but now she spoke, not as the leader of Whitestone, but with the voice of a girl even younger than her actual years.

“I don’t know the full story of what’s going on. I don’t know exactly what new hell Percival’s gotten himself into. I don’t know the terror of exactly what you’re going to face. But whatever you’re about to do, just, please… He’s the only family I have left.”

“Darling…” Vex said softly, reaching toward the girl, who stiffened automatically at the touch. Vex stopped, accepting the reaction. “I promise, none of us want to lose him either.”

“The fate of the world is at stake,” Percy said quietly, but with enough gravitas to draw their attention again. He stared at the floor, not wishing to see the array of expressions just now. “People are going to die in this battle. All of us could die. I know we can’t stop all of the damage. But if we fail, if we die and that monster is able to raze the world to the ground because we got squeamish at the last moment and chose to play it safe… _That_ would be unforgiveable.”

The silence lingered in the air, redolent with futile anger, frustration, and fear.

Finally, Gilmore spoke up, turning the List thoughtfully in his hands. “We’re not going to be able to destroy this thing today. We could disconnect it from the weapon, but that will just send it back to the Abyss. It will continue trying to come back. We’d have to destroy what anchors it to this plane.”

“So all it would do is buy us time,” Scanlan concluded. “Look, that’s a fight we’re going to have. All I’m asking is that we save it for after the dragons are done. Then I’m all in for burning a demon to the ground.”

Allura exchanged a long look with Gilmore, then sighed. “At the very least let me have Kima do another Greater Restoration on him, maybe some kind of protection spell. She may have something that can hold this off a bit longer.”

“Wait, you’re giving up and letting him keep doing this?” Keyleth protested.

“Just until after Thordak,” Gilmore conceded. “I’m not sure we can handle more than one battle at a time.”

Vax pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. “This is a mistake.”

“Percy gets to keep his demon toys?” Grog grinned excitedly.

“If he kills anyone with those besides the dragons, it’s on our heads,” Vax added.

“I won’t,” Percy promised. “I just want to finish this with the dragons, nothing more. After that, we can do whatever is necessary.”

“I don’t believe this,” Keyleth said, staring at the ceiling. “We’re working with Raishan _and_ Orthax. I can’t…”

“We’ll go with you to Fort Daxio,” Allura said. “Kima and I. Gilmore, I hate to leave you here alone—”

“I can handle it, don’t worry yourself a bit.”

Allura nodded. “I can get you all there. Once the final battle is imminent…we can decide who is most useful where. But for now, you have our assistance.”

“Thank you. All of you,” Vex said.

“Well. I guess that’s decided,” Vax muttered, displeasure seeping off his words.

Gilmore looked to the others for approval before stepping forward and holding the gun out for Percy to take back. Relief flowed through Percy’s limbs as he accepted it.

Gilmore put a hand on his shoulder as he passed over the gun. He seemed to want to say something, but simply held Percy’s eyes, squeezed his shoulder, then stepped back without a word.

The others decided to get some rest before heading out to Fort Daxio the next day—apparently the location chosen to muster their armies for the move on Emon. As they began to gradually disperse to go their own ways, Cassandra moved to stand in front of him.

Percy sighed, rubbing his eyes. “If this is going to be a scolding—”

“Percival,” she cut him off, voice brooking no attempt at charm. Her eyes were intense on his, holding herself in her familiar composed stance, but her hands were clasped together more in a wringing pose than merely at rest. “Whatever you’ve gotten into, we will deal with it. For now, go, kill the dragons, get well, and come home. I need you here.”

“Yes, my lady.” He gave her a small bow.

The fact that she still simply looked worried rather than irritated by his formality was disconcerting. But she headed out to deal with more mundane pressing matters and he was left with the remaining members of Vox Machina.

As Scanlan passed nearby, Percy commented quietly, “I wasn’t expecting to have you in my corner.”

The gnome paused, fingers brushing a pouch at his belt, staring into the distance. “We’re risking our lives against things that make normal monsters shit their pants. If this is what helps you get through it…who am I to judge?”

Percy arched an eyebrow, feeling like there was more to that statement than he had context for, but Scanlan was already on his way out, the others starting to file out with him.

Vax stopped beside him, barely even looking at him, instead focusing on a spot somewhat past him with anger still seething around him. “Make yourself useful. If something needs to be built or repaired, fine. When we fight, kill the dragons. Do nothing more.” His fist clenched. “I would say we should put a Silence spell on you, but clearly you don’t need to talk to nearly get us killed.”

Percy made his hand stay away from the List. “I would say I’m sorry—”

“Don’t. Be useful. Kill dragons.” Vax held up one finger warningly and Percy wondered how much Vex had told him already, but ultimately he did not add any more specific command. “This isn’t over. But it will be soon.”

And he walked away.

“I would’ve been with you on Raishan,” Keyleth whispered, but she followed Vax out regardless.

And that seemed to be it. Preparations for the move on Emon took precedence now and attention was already moving elsewhere.

In the hallway, Percy stepped to the side out of sight for a moment. Making sure no one had followed him, he quietly took the List back out again and turned the barrels to inspect, his stomach a bit nauseous. The ones that had been Ripley’s and Vorugal’s were still blank, no new names as a result of that confrontation.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Blowing out a breath, he shoved the gun back into its holster. Two more dragons and this all would be worth it. After that, once he had his new round of names to hunt…Well, they would all have to deal with that then.

He stepped back into the hallway of his family’s castle and began considering his preparations for the next battle.


End file.
